One and only Son
by Juubi-K
Summary: Written for Zaru. Bismarck Waldstein regrets only one thing; that he has no son. When he claims an orphan boy for his own, the course of history takes an unexpected turn.
1. Prologue

**(I decided to start on this one, since my other fic 'Sum of Our Choices' seems to be going well, and has been planned out in full. The concept for this fic was put to me by The Triumvirate of Rei, who has the credit for its invention. I acted in an advisory role, fleshing out some of the concepts, and shall be the writer. This fic is set primarily in the Code Geass universe, with certain concepts and characters imported from Gundam 00. As such, I have interpreted it as being a Code Geass fanfic and not a true crossover. Any further questions should be directed to the Triumvirate of Rei.**

**Also, these chapters have been retconned in accordance with critique from TheDevicer.)**

_It was in the year 2004 of the Imperial Calendar that the Federal Republic of Krugis met its final end. Once spanning the Middle East, the Republic was riven with religious and ethnic strife, coming to a head in the year 2001 with the accession of Dariush Shah to the throne of Iran. To the progressives who leaned towards the European Ultra-Union, Dariush was at best a benevolent autocrat, at worst a tyrant in the making. To religious and social conservatives, he was a closet reformer who sought to change Iran, and perhaps all of Krugis, in ways they neither understood nor desired. In truth the Shah was neither; an unfortunate moderate caught in the middle trying to be the Referee. When Kurdish Separatists in the Provinces of Turkey, Syria, and Iran rose in revolt, wishing to join their lands to the Province of Kurdistan, the Progressives made it a pretext to bring in EU Peacekeepers. Religious radicals took this as a declaration of intent, and launched uprisings all across Krugis, taking control of the Provinces of Afghanistan and Pakistan to form East Krugistan. The armies of Central Krugis remained loyal to their Shah, crushing both revolts within Iran, but soon found themselves trapped between the forces of both East Krugistan and West Krugis. Realizing that there was little hope of victory, the Iranian Majlis persuaded the Shah to seek help abroad. Since the EU was tentatively backing West Krugis, the obvious choice was the Holy Empire of Britannia. Seeing a fine opportunity to test new military concepts and gain some territory into the bargain, Emperor Charles zi Britannia the First, Ninety-Eighth Emperor of Britannia, dispatched an expeditionary force to aid his fellow ruler. The expedition's leader was a man of some renown, and one whose life and death would become of crucial importance to subsequent events. A man who, by a single act of altruism, would help change the course of history. _

_His name was Bismarck Waldstein, and he was the Knight of One. _

**Prologue**

_**Golestan Palace, Tehran, Capital of the Kingdom of Krugis, 2004 ATB**_

It was a cold night. But the climate was the least of his concerns.

Bismarck Waldstein, First Knight of the Round Table, Commander of the Krugis Expedition, had a great deal on his mind.

He stared down at the holographic map, which displayed the Middle East in detail. All the provinces of the former Federal Republic of Krugis were marked out, coloured to show their present allegience, or who happened to have conquered them. Iran, along with Kurdistan, and Iraq to its south, were marked in the Imperial blue. The former provinces of Syria, Transjordan, Israel, Lebanon, and Turkey wore their new colours as the Syrian Arab Republic, the Hashemite Kingdom of Transjordan, the State of Israel, the Republic of Lebanon, and the Republic of Turkey respectively. To the East, the former provinces of Afghanistan and Pakistan, were coloured to represent their new owners, namely China and India respectively.

He grabbed at a sheaf of papers and flicked through them, absorbing the information quickly. They were the latest reports on the state of the enemy, and there was nothing that surprised him.

"My Lord." The voice drew him from his thoughts. He turned to see an adjutant, whose name he could not remember, standing to attention. "My Lord, the Emperor is ready to receive your report."

"I will make contact in here. Leave me." The adjutant saluted and left the room. Bismarck turned and strode into the centre of the room, facing the screen on the rear wall. The screen flickered to life, briefly showing the Britannian flag, a red cross superimposed on a white cross on a blue field, with the crest of the House of Britannia in the centre, a lion and a serpent, topped with a crown. The screen flickered again, showing a man older than himself, with long white hair arranged into magisterial rolls, and a short white beard. His face was lined with age and stress, his eyes narrow and hard. It was the face of the man who had won his respect. Bismarck dropped to one knee, quickly enough to be respectful, but not so quickly as to be obsequious.

"Lord Waldstein," spoke the voice of Charles zi Britannia, 98th Emperor of the Holy Empire of Britannia, transmitted over thousands of kilometres. "Report"

"Central Krugis is secure, your Imperial Majesty," Bismarck began his report. "The East Krugistanian armies are destroyed, as are those of Western Krugis. Indian forces have control of Islamabad as of two hours ago."

"Hmmm," the Emperor seemed to take this in. "What of the EU forces?"

"Their forces have completed their withdrawal from the former West Krugis, with the exception of the Republic of Turkey. They have deployed strategic SAMs inside Turkish territory, and several aircraft have been shot down as a result. I have received back-channel requests from the new National Governments and the EU for an end to hostilities. Your Majesty, I respectfully ask for your permission to end the campaign."

"You have my permission, Lord Waldstein," the Emperor cocked an eyebrow. "But what of the Shah?"

"The Shah has agreed to my proposal, your Majesty. I must also recommend that no action be taken against the Chinese Federation. I do not believe they will make any further aggressive moves at this time."

"Very well. Afghanistan and Pakistan will give them troubles aplenty. How did the knightmares perform?"

"The _Ganymede ALI_ has proven effective, your Majesty, but I would not recommend it for future combat deployments."

"And why not?"

"The All-terrain Land Intervener upgrade package is quite extensive, your Majesty. The _Ganymede_ simply isn't designed for combat, though we have gained useful insights from using it in battle."

"Be careful what you say, Lord Waldstein," the Emperor cautioned mildly. "This project has many opponents, especially in the Air Force. Are you implying that the knightmare frame is a flawed concept?"

"No weapon is universally useful or invincible, your Majesty," Bismarck was not intimidated. "I believe that the knightmare frame will be the weapon of the future. But our future knightmares will need to be faster, more agile, more compact, and better-armoured."

"Marianne would be pleased to hear you say that, Lord Waldstein," the Emperor smiled slightly. "She made the same recommendations herself. I shall put it to Reuben Ashford, of course. It might give him a lead on Britannic."

"That could be construed as collusion, your Majesty."

"She _is_ my wife, Lord Waldstein," the Emperor's smile became a smirk, taking it in good humour. "If she cannot be of advantage to her friends, then what would be the point?"

"I daresay, your Majesty."

"In any case, I have made the necessary arrangements regarding the Shah. I will send a Courier with the Letters Patent for you to present, naming him as King of Krugis. I trust this will suit your intentions for Area 7?"

"It will, your Majesty."

"Lord Waldstein," the Emperor gazed into his eyes, weighing and measuring his most trusted servant. Bismarck stared back, hiding nothing, and having nothing to hide. "Are you certain that your methods will work? To allow an Area to keep its name, and even govern itself. This has not happened since the Area system was adopted."

"Your Majesty," Bismarck weighed his words carefully. "I believe that the best way to rule over people is to make them _want_ to be ruled. Thus if we make our rule both beneficial and invisible, the inclusion of Krugis within our Empire should be both sustainable and mutually profitable. We have conquered them, and they do not know it. People cannot rebel against what they cannot see." The Emperor appraised him for a while.

"You have chosen Area 7 for your fief, by your right as Knight of One," he said eventually. "It is yours to do with as you see fit. If it goes well for you," his eyes gave a rare sparkle, "it may lead to considerable changes." He acknowledged Bismarck with a nod, and disconnected. Bismarck stood up, and headed for the window. There he stood, staring out over the city, allowing himself to think.

He was a soldier. He had been a soldier all his life. Fighting was as natural to him as breathing was to anyone else. But he was not a mindless killer. He understood the true nature of his profession. He understood that every soldier he killed was someone's son or daughter, perhaps a brother or sister, a husband or wife, a father or mother. He enjoyed _fighting_, to test his skills, to push body and mind to the limit, to revel in the power he had earned. He did not enjoy _killing_. Killing was something to be done as a last resort, when it could not be avoided.

He had killed in that campaign. He could not deny it, nor did he seek to. He had planned and ordered the air attacks against East Krugistan, leaving them naked before the Indian assault. It was he who organised the provision of _Ganymede_ frames to the Central Krugis forces, with which they wrought such havoc and destruction. It was _he_ who had taken personal command of the Shah's armies, who had earned their respect, led them to victory, made them able to kill and destroy on such a scale.

Bismarck felt no remorse, no regret for what he had done. He was a warrior of honour, and conducted himself as such. Others might kill and destroy as they pleased, but Bismarck Waldstein did not. Others might burn, rape, pillage and plunder, but Bismarck Waldstein did not. His conduct was his own business. His oath was the Emperor's, but his honour was his own. Only by knowing himself, and being true to himself, could he be free.

It was not his conduct that he regretted that night. Nor was it his past. What he had done ten years ago, he had done for Britannia, for a friend, for a man who had won his respect. There was nothing to regret there.

His mind wandered down memory lane, to probably the most important night of his life.

"_Tell me, Lord Waldstein," Prince Charles zi Britannia turned his head slightly to look at his companion. "Is there anything in this life that you regret?"_

"_Only one thing, your Highness."_

"_Pray tell, if you don't mind me asking." Bismarck paused. To reveal it was no small thing, even to this man. _

"_That I have no son, your Highness."_

"_Hmmm," the Prince paused, nodding. "Yes, I can understand that. It would be a shame if your line were to end tonight, Lord Waldstein."_

"_I have no intention of dying tonight, your Highness."_

It had been the night of May 6th, 1997 ATB. The night when he had helped Charles zi Britannia take the throne. He, and a certain Lady Marianne Lamperouge, a fellow Knight of the Round Table. Lady Marianne Lamperouge, who was now Empress, first among the Emperor's consorts, and mother to two of his children. His student, rival, and the nearest thing he had to a friend. She had helped him win over the S.I.S agents, who were supposed to be watching out for that sort of thing. She had helped him win over the Imperial Guard, who should have gunned him down in his tracks.

But they had not. They were embittered, distrustful, embarrassed by the House of Britannia, to whom they were oath-sworn. To them, Charles zi Britannia brought the promise of renewal, a chance to set things right. To them, he was the Empire's rightful ruler, its last best hope.

For that ideal, he had slain six of his brother Knights, and condemned the other three to death. He had overseen the deaths of thousands, hunted down by the S.I.S, slaughtered by the Imperial Guard. The Princes and Princesses, gunned down with their loyal courtiers and knights. The Royal Guards who supported them, massacred in their barracks. The Generals murdered by their own staff officers, the bureaucrats found dead in their offices, the Noble families slain and dispossessed for choosing the wrong side.

The only alternative had been civil war. The innocent could not be made to suffer for the caprices of Royalty and Nobility. Such things had to be dealt with among themselves. That was the better way. That was Britannia's way.

And as such, he did not regret it.

"_I never found the time for a wife,_" he thought wistfully. "_I suppose I would be hard for a woman to live with._"

He drove the melancholy thoughts away. Turning his thoughts to his duties, he left the room and headed downstairs. It was time to inspect the security.

It was not something he really needed to do, but he thought it prudent to check the security himself. He had earned himself a reputation for anal-retentiveness, but saw no reason to change his ways. The smallest detail could make the difference between victory and defeat. And the smallest details of the Golestan Palace's security could mean the difference between life and death for more than one person.

Soran was frantic.

It had been a risk to come so close to the Palace. He had thought that the other urchins would stay well away, for fear of being shot at by the guards. He had thought he could find somewhere safe to sleep, where his enemies were unlikely to come looking.

No such luck. A bunch of his fellow street-children had had the same idea, and were now in hot pursuit, hoping to despoil him of whatever food he might have.

They were always doing it. They knew he was good at getting food, clothes, and other things. He was good at surviving on the streets, as he had done for as long as he could remember. Begging would've gotten him rounded up and dragged off to some orphanage, or worse. He lived on his wits, and being too small and fast to catch.

He paused, trying desperately to still his breathing, pressing himself against the wall. He waited, for what seemed like an age, until the running footsteps receded.

He poked his head out, glanced from side to side. Seeing no one, he moved cautiously along the wall towards the end of the alley. Looking out, he could see the outer wall of the palace, with guards in red and black uniforms patrolling up and down. They were quick and clever, and he knew better than to let them see him.

Going near the palace was dangerous. It had been ever since the Shah's cousin had gotten himself blown up. Prince Fereyoun never suspected that that one of those clean, smiling, angelic children was not all he appeared to be. He would not have been the only street child lured away with sweets and sweeter promises.

For Soran, it was an absolute pain. The guards were taking no chances, and took pot-shots at any urchin who came too close. He could no longer hang around the kitchens in the hope of throwaways, or if someone was feeling particularly generous, a bag of leftovers. The best he could hope for was that no one would follow him this close to the palace.

Soran knew a good place to hide. Only he knew about the air vent leading into the storeroom, and he was just small enough to fit through it. He could sleep there in safety, and escape in the morning. But he would have to get to the next alley along. If he moved along the outside, there was a chance the guards would see him, then again, it was getting dark, so they might not. If he went back, he would more than likely run into that lot again.

He decided to chance it. He glanced back and forth again, saw no one looking, and slunk sideways along the outer wall of the building. He tried to control himself, but mounting terror was driving him along, faster and faster, his ears straining for the staccato chatter that marked his end.

There was a piercing screech, following by a frantic scrabbling, as his foot came down on a rat's tail. Soran froze, glanced around in terror, saw two shadows detach themselves from the wall of the palace. Lights strobed out. They were not the big ones on the roof, but small torches on their guns. The lights were on him.

Soran ran, ignoring the shouting as he rounded the corner. He sprinted along the alley, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He turned a corner, hoping against hope that they wouldn't follow. A dead end.

Shaking, sweating, Soran turned around slowly. What he saw was not the guards. What he saw was worse.

It was _them_. Some were taller, some were shorter. Their clothes were worn and dirty, their cheeks pinched, their eyes hard. He would get no mercy from them.

Soran glanced around, hoping to spot something he could use as a weapon. Anything that would improve his chances. He spied what looked like a length of thin pipe, just narrow enough for him to hold.

He dived for it as they charged.

Bismarck approached the scene at a run. Two of the Shah's elite _Javidan_, clad in red uniforms with black berets, stood at the opening of the alley, rifles aimed down it.

"Report." One of the guards turned and saluted.

"Street kid, Lord Waldstein," the guard replied in Farsi, his native tongue.

"He went down here?" Bismarck asked in the same language.

"Yes, Lord Waldstein." Bismarck stepped past the two guards, ignoring their protests, and headed down the alley. He could hear the sounds of a scuffle up ahead. He halted as a blur flashed across the alley, stopping directly in front of him. His good eye made out a ruffian, a creature of about six years old he estimated by its size. Its matted hair was black, its clothes were torn and filthy. It carried a length of pipe in both hands, with which it struck out at another urchin that came its way.

And its eyes…

Bismarck watched in fascination. The urchins came at the boy from all sides, yet still he fought them. Again and again they struck at him, one with a switchblade, others with broken bottles or whatever else came to hand. He stabbed, swung, kicked at his tormentors, teeth gritted, eyes blazing.

The lines of a poem wandered into his mind.

_My good b__lade carves the casques of men,_

_My tough lance thrusteth sure,_

_My stre__ngth is as the strength of ten,_

_Because my heart is pure._

Switchblade finally got lucky. The boy gave a half-hiss, half-wail and staggered backwards, the urchins cautiously gathering around, waiting for him to falter, waiting to make the kill. Switchblade grinned a toothless, feral grin. His hand darted forward to finish his quarry.

The knife flew away into the darkness. The urchins looked up in annoyance at the one who had disturbed them, only for annoyance to turn to fear.

It was tall, with greying black hair cascading down its back, and a short, clipped beard. It wore white, with a long cloak hanging from its shoulders. Its sword was long, and sharp. It had only one eye, the other was sewn shut.

The urchins fled.

Soran stared up at the apparition, even as he felt his strength ebbing. He felt a terrible, stinging pain in his side, but would not let the pipe drop. He stood his ground, even as his legs went cold, aiming the pipe straight at the man with the sword. He felt a wetness in his clothes. They were turning red.

He fell to his knees, the pipe dropping from his hands. Surprise filled his clouding mind as the man knelt down beside him and picked him up. He looked up, through misting eyes, at that face with the one good eye.

"Fear nothing, little one," said Bismarck Waldstein, in Farsi. "You will not die tonight." Soran lost consciousness, wondering as he did who this man was. The last he heard sounded a mere whisper.

"You shall be my son."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_**Tehran, Kingdom of Krugis, August 2004 ATB **_

Soran was thoroughly bewildered.

It had been several weeks since the fight in the alleyway, the night when he thought he would die. A great many things had changed.

The wound in his side was stitched and healing. He had been required to bathe, which was an unusual experience for him. He had clean clothes, daily. He had slept in a real bed. He ate more in a single meal than he might previously have in a day.

And he was in the Golestan Palace.

Sunlight streamed in through the windows, forcing him to narrow his eyes. He resisted the urge to stay in bed, no matter how warm and comfortable it was. Soran stepped out onto the tiled floor, slipping his feet into a pair of fluffy slippers. He padded over to the main window and looked out, taking in the view.

The Bazaar district was laid out in the distance, just beyond the outer perimeter and buildings. He had never seen the city in this way. It felt strange to look from above, when previously he had seen only from underneath.

There was a knock, and the door clicked open. Soran turned his head to see one of the palace servants standing in the doorway.

"The bath is ready, young master."

"Very well, thank you." The response was automatic, a phrase he had heard, and thus used because he did not know what else to say. The servant bowed and left. Soran padded across the room, through one of two doors, and into the bathroom.

He knew how to wash himself. He had _insisted_ on washing himself. Being washed by someone else had been unbearable. But what a_ luxury_ it was. To bathe in hot water, in a marble-walled bathroom, with scented concoctions in bottles all around. Such a thing he could never have imagined.

Soran remained in the bath until his fingertips wrinkled. As he dried himself off with a very large and very fluffy towel, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Large, dark eyes, high cheekbones tapering down to the chin, curly black hair, no longer long and matted, but short and shiny. It amazed him how much he had changed.

A knock at the door drew his attention away from the mirror. The servant again, telling him that breakfast was ready. He called an acknowledgement, then headed back into his room to dress. The clothes left out for him were nothing special, a plain sweatshirt, trousers and t-shirt. They were nonetheless more than he could previously have dreamed of.

He padded out into the main room of the elegant apartments. Seated at a small table off to one side was Bismarck Waldstein, the man who had rescued him a few weeks earlier. The man with whom he had been living ever since. His face was currently obscured by a newspaper. Soran paused, uncertain.

"Good morning, Soran," he said from behind the newspaper.

"Good morning…father." And that was another funny thing. He did not yet understand _why_ this man insisted on being his father. It wasn't that he actually _had_ a father, at least not that he could remember in any meaningful way.

He had wondered at times, in the depths of night when he couldn't sleep, if _this_ man was indeed his father. But it seemed unlikely. If Bismarck Waldstein was his father, why didn't he just say so? Why did he keep saying that he would _become_ his father?

"Come, sit down." Soran obeyed, taking his seat opposite Bismarck. Alexander sat in awkward silence for a moment, then deciding that his 'father' wasn't going to say anything, he grabbed a warm, fresh bread roll from the basket and bit into it.

There was something strangely joyous about fresh bread.

"My business here in Krugis is almost complete" Bismarck said as Soran finished the bread roll. "As such, we shall leave for Britannia within the week."

"We?" Soran was unsettled. "You're taking me?"

"Of course," Bismarck replied. "You are my son, after all. And for that, you will need a new name."

"But…" this was a bigger shock than leaving. "But…I'm Soran."

"That won't do." Bismarck laid down his newspaper and looked Soran straight in the eyes. "Soran is not a name I would give my son. When we return to Britannia, it must seem as though you are my natural son. No one must know where you came from, aside from the Emperor." Indeed, it was the Emperor whom he had to think for the success of the deception thus far.

"Besides," Bismarck went on. "Soran is the name of your life here, the life of a child living rough on the streets. Don't you want to live a new life? Don't you _want_ to be reborn as a new person?"

Soran did not answer. For all his cleverness, this was too much for him to deal with. Should he just give up who he was? Become someone else? In what other ways would he change?

"If you don't want to do this," Bismarck said, noticing his unease, "I won't force you. The Shah will see to it that you are properly cared-for."

Soran thought it through. He realised that he really didn't want to leave this man, this Bismarck Waldstein, who wanted him for his son. He was tempted, so very tempted. To go away with a new father to a new home, to a better place where all would be well. Surely this was an opportunity that only came once.

And it wasn't as if anyone would care. No one would miss the urchin called Soran, not really. There was nothing left for him there.

"I'll go with you…father."

"I'm glad," Bismarck's facial expression had not changed throughout their conversation, but he seemed lighter somehow, more relaxed, or so Soran thought. "As such, your name shall be Alexander Bismarck Waldstein. Alexander for Alexander the Great, and Bismarck for myself."

"_Al…ex…ander,_" Soran tried the words, getting a feel for his new name.

Many of the servants and other staff at the Golestan palace had heard of how Lord Bismarck Waldstein had brought a wounded street child in one night. A few weeks after that, as the victory celebrations were winding down, they saw him leave the palace with a little boy toddling along beside him. Few dared to consider that they might be one and the same. Those who did were told in no uncertain terms to keep quiet about it.

_**

* * *

**__**Brussels, Belgium, EU, September 2005 ATB**_

His name was Hamid. Just Hamid.

Andrei Velichko regarded him critically from the other side of his desk. The man had long, curly red hair and a short, bushy beard in the same colour. His face bore an arrogant grin, but his eyes were narrow and emotionless. He wore a sleeveless red shirt, with baggy blue trousers and tall boots. A blue tattoo was emblazoned across his left shoulder, showing a jagged mouth open to bite. This was not the sort of man that EUROSEC was supposed to do business with. As such, he was the sort of man EUROSEC did business with on a daily basis. He made a compelling contrast with the grey-haired, immaculately dressed Velichko.

"You're probably wondering why we called you here." Velichko pulled a dossier from his briefcase and opened it on the desk before him.

"I reckoned you had something for me to do." Hamid's grin widened, as he eyed Velichko condescendingly. "You know the kind of guy I am."

"Indeed we do," Velichko flicked through the dossier, refreshing his memory. "Your first kill was a certain M. Rassoud in Baghdad, by request of the Justice Action Force, otherwise known as JAF, in March of 2001. We have you listed for," he scanned the figures more closely, "two-hundred and forty-seven targeted killings between then and June 2004. JAF's leadership must have thought you too valuable as a hit-man to leave in the ranks."

"Ah, those innocent days," Hamid drawled, as though looking back on some childhood idyll. "Fighting for freedom and progress. As if life were some kind of cartoon."

"Your evaluation describes you as…_cunning, ruthless, capable of targeted operations in a discrete, efficient, and proportionate fashion_" Velichko read aloud from the dossier. "Your psych-evaluation is medium-risk, so we can probably justify your employment so long as you keep your head on straight."

"I'm flattered," Hamid sat up from his slouch and turned to face Velichko. "So what is it you people want me to do?" Velichko pulled a sheet of paper from the dossier and slid it across the desk.

"Do you recognise this?"

"Of course," Hamid glanced over the picture. "It's a _Ganymede ALI_."

"What can you tell me about it?"

"Well," Hamid paused, warming to the task. "ALI stands for All-terrain-Land-Intervener. It's an upgrade package for the _Ganymede_."

"And how does it upgrade?"

"Gun pods on the wrists, as you can see," Hamid tapped the picture. "Shortened the arms, extra armour everywhere, and a cockpit cover. They've probably replaced the control systems altogether, considering all the extra stuff they'd need."

"This is what you know of this class of frame?"

"The ones I've seen in action, yes."

"How," there was a sparkle in Velichko's eyes, "would you improve it."

"_We-ell,_" Hamid drawled, thinking it over. "If it were my call, I would add more armour, but not too much more. Float units on the feet, like with the _Bamides_, and upgrade the C&C systems."

"Funny you should say that," Velichko drew another sheet from the dossier and slid it across the desk. Hamid looked at it, and cocked an eyebrow.

"A new version?"

"Yes. This seems to be the third version, a significant improvement over the original by all accounts. From what we could find out, it incorporates all of the modifications you suggested. The cockpit seems to be internal, with the sensor suite concentrated in the head." Hamid glanced at the picture again. The frame indeed had a head, with heavier armour making it stockier than its predecessor.

"So," Velichko went on. "What would your response be?"

"Were it up to me," Hamid returned his gaze to Velichko. "I would snatch one as quickly as possible." He smirked. "Or is that why you called me here?"

"Can you do it?"

"Probably," Hamid narrowed his eyes. "But don't expect the goods any time soon. It'll take months to do the preparation, assuming I can get in there. And the guards won't be slouches. They'll be _Javidan_. And there's one other issue."

"Which is?"

"Collateral damage." Hamid noted the look on Velichko's face. "Despite what the conspiracy theorists say, its pretty hard to make a hit look like an accident. If I just take the frame and run, it'll seem too professional. Unless you want them figuring out your part in all this, I'll need to mix it up a bit." Hamid smiled. Velichko didn't.

"Frankly, it isn't our concern how you do it," he said eventually. "Just provide us with the prototype and your fee will be transferred. Do it well, and there'll be more to come."

"Sounds good to me."

_**

* * *

**__**San-Clemente, California, Holy Empire of Britannia, March 2006 ATB**_

The blade flashed forward. Alexander parried, sending it sliding to his left, his arm jarred by the force. He leapt backwards as Bismarck spun on his heel, bringing his sword around against his right. The blade slid through empty air.

Alexander raised his weapon, an elegant dress sword, to _en garde _position. Bismarck did likewise, though his weapon was an enormous Zwei-hander. The blade was blunt, but Alexander respected the weight and force of the blade. It had given him broken bones more than once.

"Who are you?" Bismarck asked levelly.

"Alexander Bismarck Waldstein!" Bismarck attacked again, jabbing the enormous sword forward. Alexander dodged to the right, pirouetted to avoid a sideways slash, and brought his sword up to parry an overhead strike. His father attacked in one movement, moving the zwei-hander in a figure-of eight, the weight of the sword carrying it along. The zwei-hander suited Bismarck, in terms of his size and strength. Few who had not seen him fight would guess the speed he was capable of on top of all that.

"When were you born?"

"April seventh, nineteen-ninety-eight, Ascension Throne Britannia!"

Bismarck lunged again, Alexander dodged. The dance went on. Slash, parry, swing, spin.

"Where were you born?"

"La Casa Pacifica, in the Grand Duchy of California!" Alexander stood where he was, sword raised, breathing heavily, his eyes never wavering. Bismarck did likewise, seeming as fresh as when they had begun. Alexander stared into his father's one eye, trying to discern his intent. He did not bother with the rest of him, for he knew there would be no warning. He had himself struggled to eliminate the subtle muscle movements that betrayed intent to a keen eye.

Bismarck turned sideways on and lunged shoulder-first at Alexander. It was all the boy could do to get out of the way. As he passed, Bismarck planted his foot and swung the zwei-hander as though to fell a tree. Alexander had only a split section to choose his next move. He knew his father would not kill or seriously harm him, such was his skill, but wrong choice would leave him with a broken pelvis.

So he didn't choose. He simply _did._

As the blade swung, Alexander launched himself into the air, pulling up his legs as best he could. Time seemed to slow down as he felt his upward force diminishing, as the blade came closer and closer. He reached his apogee.

The blade flashed through empty air beneath him. For an instant Alexander saw his father's face as they drew level. He almost seemed surprised.

Alexander dropped to the ground, raising his sword to high guard. Bismarck stared back at him, his emotionless mask back in place.

The sound of applause drew their attention. They looked to see a girl of about fifteen, with long purple hair, clad in a white tunic and pants with a purple sash. Behind her were a couple of apologetic-looking servants.

"Bravo, _bravo_," the girl proclaimed. "The son is as good as the father."

"Your Imperial Highness," Bismarck passed the zwei-hander to a servant and bowed. Alexander sheathed his own sword and did likewise. "Please excuse my poor welcome."

"Not your fault, Lord Bismarck," the girl seemed in good spirits. "I thought I would surprise you. Besides, I wanted to see if the rumours are true."

"I daresay, your Imperial Highness," Bismarck straightened and gestured to a bewildered Alexander. "May I present my son, Alexander Bismarck Waldstein." Alexander remembered himself just in time and bowed again. He had been staring at the girl in fascination. Apart from servants she was the first woman he had had any contact with since his arrival at the mansion. Her purple eyes sparkled as she regarded him.

"Alexander, I present…"

"Cornelia li Britannia," the girl thrust out one hand. Alexander paused a moment, flustered, before taking it. "I have to say, Lord Bismarck, your little boy here has caused quite a stir."

"No doubt, your Imperial Highness."

"Everyone's wondering," Cornelia cocked an eyebrow. "Lord Bismarck has a son? How come we've never seen him? What sort of woman would marry him anyway?"

"I saw fit to raise my son in private," Bismarck replied, somewhat tersely, "because I wanted to ensure he had the proper grounding. And I will not expose him to the Court until he is fit to be seen." There was a pause. The servants looked nervous, and Alexander was unsettled. What did his father mean by _fit to be seen_?

"Lord Bismarck," Cornelia retained her smile. "I would not ask you do to otherwise, and how you raise your child is your own responsibility anyway. No one disputes that. But people will invariably be curious." She returned her attention to the infatuated Alexander, ruffling his hair. "They'll be queuing up to show off their daughters." Alexander blushed, Cornelia chuckled.

"Anyway, Lord Bismarck," she turned back to Bismarck as he gestured for the servants to bring water. It was early in the year, but the day was warm and humid nonetheless. "I have news from home regarding him. The Emperor has decided to award him his mother's title as a courtesy. He will be known as the Viscount San Clemente when he joins us at Court."

"At Court?" Alexander looked to his father, confused.

"I think its time to tell you," Bismarck replied, after a brief pause. "Your training has gone well, and will be complete in two months. But you have much more to learn, including many things I cannot teach you here. As such, her Imperial Majesty the Empress Marianne desires that you should live with her and her children in the Aries Villa at Pendragon. There you will learn the proper behaviour and responsibilities of your station."

"At…Pendragon?" Alexander felt as bewildered as he had two years earlier, when his life had changed forever. To live on St Darwin Boulevard, in the Empress' household. Was such a thing possible? Was he ready?

"No need to worry," Cornelia smiled, amused by Alexander's nervousness. "Lady Marianne keeps an informal household, so it won't matter if your etiquette isn't perfect. You'll live there until next summer, after which you'll accompany me to the Military Academy."

"Then your Highness' acceptance has been confirmed," Bismarck commented before Alexander could say anything. "My congratulations."

"But, how would I go to the Military Academy?" Alexander asked, now even more confused. "Am I not too young?"

"You won't be attending as a student," Bismarck explained. "You will attend as Princess Cornelia's personal Page."

"Her servant?"

"It will be a useful experience for you." Bismarck decided not to point out what an unimaginable _honour_ it was for Alexander to be Cornelia's assistant. There would be little point if he did. Besides, the boy had enough to make sense of in the next two months.

_**

* * *

**__**Tal Afar, Kurdistan Province, Kingdom of Krugis, April 2006 ATB**_

The explosion tore through the relative quiet of the night.

What followed was an instant of uncertainty, like a sudden shock, no one knowing precisely what to do. It lasted as long as it took for someone in the security bunker to notice that the gatehouse was a ball of fire and point this out to his superior.

Klaxons wailed. Off-duty guards leapt from their bunks, grabbing their weapons as they raced to their assembly points. At the four hangars lining the main avenue, the guards ducked inside the doors as they rumbled shut.

With a crash and a rumble, the wreckage of the gate-house was pushed aside, a pair of _Workerbee_ work frames forcing the hulk that had once been a bomb truck through into the base. The frames had been reported stolen three weeks earlier from a construction site on the other side of the city. As the gap was opened, a trio of pickup trucks raced through the gap and into the base, followed by dozens of armed men on foot.

They were colloquially dubbed 'technicals'. Essentially pickup trucks mounting a weapon of some kind, usually a machine gun or rocket launcher, it was a popular vehicle among resistance groups and irregular armies.

The three technicals roared down the main avenue, between the lines of hangars. They fired at the hangars, but the men inside did not take the bait. They made do instead with any unfortunate guards or base personnel who happened to be out in the open. Their target was the command centre at the centre of the base. The men on foot spread out between the buildings, moving with grim determination.

These men were not the usual mindless fanatics. Most were locals true, but the best among them had spent months training in some harsh Afghan fastness, learning the skills of the partisan. These they passed on as best they could, but mostly they had to make do with telling the others what to do and where to shoot.

The attack was brazen, it was bold as brass, it _appeared_ to be working.

Such was the fog of war. The combination of surprise and speed meant that the battle _appeared_ to be going the attackers' way. But only a small number of the guards had been killed thus far, with around half still in their barracks, which were located on another avenue perpendicular to the main one, the two connecting at the command centre. The guards had organised themselves, preparing to counter-attack as soon as they knew where the enemy was.

Not one of the attackers would walk away alive. For them, that was not the point.

Apart from the two _Workerbee_ drivers, who got cold feet and took the opportunity to excuse themselves once all the fighters were inside.

As the gun battle raged around the command centre, a nondescript grey van pulled to a quiet halt in the street outside the perimeter wall. It went entirely unnoticed, due in part to the guards' attention being focused elsewhere, but also because the men on the security towers were either dead or keeping their heads well down.

A little went a long way, especially with a good sniper.

The Spec-Ops team inside finished checking their weapons. There were seven of them all-told. The sergeant reminded them of their mission one last time. Get in, drop off_ him_, infiltrate the command centre, get out, back to the safe-house. They would then grab their survival gear and clear out of Tal Afar, out into the desert for extraction. Their companion, adding a seventh to their six-man team, would already be long gone if all went well.

_He_ sat furthest from the door, opposite the sergeant. He was dressed and armed as they were, and his face was also covered. None of them knew him, and none of them particularly felt like getting to know him. He was with them for the night, to carry out an ancillary task under cover of their own mission.

Which was in turn under the cover of the insurgent attack going on right at that moment.

On a word from the sergeant, the doors were opened and the troopers filed out, crouched low, weapons at the ready. They scuttled through the shadow at the base of the wall, ever watchful for danger. The hardest part would be the gate, where they might be illuminated by the flames. They darted through the gate and into the blind spot between the wall and the nearest hangar, Hangar 1, one at a time. The _extra_ was in the middle of the file with the sergeant. Once they were all through, the other five troopers spread out, taking up defensive positions. The sergeant turned to their guest.

"We got you this far. You're sure it's Hangar 4?"

"If it isn't," replied Hamid, "it'll be my problem, not yours. Just get me in there and I'll do the rest."

The sergeant gestured at one of the troopers, who began examining the lock on the small side door of the Hangar. After a few seconds he looked up and nodded at the sergeant, who gestured at the remaining troopers to take up position.

"Remember to shoot out the cameras" Hamid commented. "We have to make it look like _they_," he jabbed a thumb in the direction of the firefight "did it."

The sergeant decided not to do what he would _like_ to do to people who tried to tell him how to do his job. Two of his troopers took up position either side of the door, one pulling out a flashbang, the other a smoke grenade. The sergeant counted down with his fingers. On one, the trooper on the door did something to the lock, then dashed around behind his fellows as the light turned green. The trooper with the flashbang kicked the door open and flung his weapon inside, while the other threw in his smoke grenade. There was a brief gut-wrenching instant, followed by the familiar crack of the flashbang, followed an instant later by the smoke grenade. The troopers boiled in, guns blazing. The guards went down first, most before they could even get a shot off. Within seconds the squad was inside and finding cover. Hamid scanned his eyes over the hangar. There were four _Ganymede ALI _frames, arranged in lines of two along the walls facing inward. Three of them had gun pods on both arms, but the second one down on his side had a larger weapon slung underneath its left forearm instead.

One of the troopers scuttled along the wall behind the frames, checking between each one for threats. When he finished at the end, he looked back towards Hamid and made the all-clear gesture. Hamid gestured acknowledgement and raced along to his chosen frame, the sergeant hot on his heels. As he dashed up the set of steps leading to the cockpit, he heard one last burst of gunfire, then the only sound he heard was his own feet on the steps. The fight had taken less than sixty seconds, but he was too high on adrenalin to notice.

Hamid leaned into the cockpit and flicked on the display. Noting that all was in order, he leaned back to gesture 'okay' at the sergeant, who acknowledged and headed for the door, the rest of the squad doing likewise. They knew what Hamid had in mind.

Hamid climbed into the cockpit, pulling the hatch shut before strapping himself in. After checking over the systems, he turned his attention to the weapons, his favourite part by far. The right wrist bore a gun pod containing a 20mm autocannon, with an ammunition supply of 600 rounds. The left arm bore what the display called a 120mm Linear Cannon, with six rounds loaded and a spare clip on the waist. Hamid quickly calculated the variables in his head. If the weapon really was a linear cannon, then its barrel would be line with electromagnetic rails or coils, pushing the shell along faster than it would go otherwise. The shell itself was one of the new caseless rounds, if Hamid's suspicions were correct, activated by an electric charge. All in all, it meant more firepower in a smaller package than was previously possible.

Hamid grinned. His employers would pay him generously just for the frame he was piloting, though both he and they had a bigger prize in mind. The Version 3 prototype secured in Hangar 4. And this machine was going to get him inside.

Containing his excitement, Hamid eased the _Ganymede ALI_ out into the open space in the middle. The controls were a little sluggish, calibrated to someone else's preferences, but he could adapt quickly. He turned the frame left, towards the door that one of the troopers had thoughtfully opened before leaving. Pacing himself, Hamid rolled the frame out into the avenue.

Looking right, he saw the command centre. He saw that one of the doors had been blown off, but the only ones moving around were in _Javidan_ red or army green. There were rather a lot of bodies, and the three technicals were burning.

Hamid felt nothing. He had spent months carefully planning his part in the Op. He had manipulated the insurgents, weaselling his way into their confidence. He had persuaded them, with a little help from EUROSEC, that this mission was doable. Their role, in the end, was merely to be there, so that neither Krugis nor Britannia would know the truth.

He turned back to the hangar, making sure it was empty. He silently wished good luck to the troopers. They weren't the friendliest of people, but they had done their part. Now he would do his.

Hamid levelled the linear cannon at the armoured crates towards the back of the hangar. They were armoured for a reason, and the troopers had known to make themselves scarce. They knew what happened when Energy Fillers, packed with charged liquid sakuradite, were exposed to explosive force. Practically quivering with expectation, Hamid squeezed the trigger.

The cannon cracked, bucking far less than Hamid expected. An instant later Hangar 1 exploded into a fireball, the chain-reaction quickly engulfing the remaining knightmares inside, along with all the bodies and all the evidence of what had happened.

The people of Tal Afar, Hamid thought with satisfaction, wouldn't be getting any sleep that night.

Enthused by the sight and sound of the explosion, Hamid turned back towards the guards, who now had their attention firmly on him. He brought up the right arm and opened fire, sending a burst of 20mm rounds their way, dropping many of them like ninepins. Some ducked inside the command centre, but others dashed for cover. They had sense enough to know that there was little they could do with small arms.

Noting movement in the corners of his eyes, Hamid glanced from side to side. The doors of Hangar 2 were sliding open.

"_At last,_" Hamid thought. "_They're putting up a fight._"

From the hangar came four _Ganymede ALI _frames. Like his, they were painted in _Javidan_ red. They moved to surround him, gun pods raised to fire.

"_Amateurs,_" Hamid scoffed at their obvious course of action. Frame combat was still in its infancy, and it was not widely understood what would be most effective, even in the only army to have any practical experience of it. But Hamid had some ideas of his own.

He snapped off another shot from the linear cannon, breaking right. The shell tore into one of the frames, and to Hamid's surprise actually passed straight through and hit another frame behind it. At such short range, he realised that there was no room for mistakes.

The two survivors returned fire with their gun pods. Hamid heard the clangs and shrieks as bullets struck his frame's armour, but his sideways motion meant that most of the bullets were missing, or else catching the armour on the sloping edges. He switched direction again, swinging around to face the enemies behind him. As he continued in the new direction, he squeezed off two more shots from the linear cannon, each turning an enemy frame to burning scrap. Two rounds left.

Hamid pulled the frame to a stop. That had been remarkably easy, though he had been lucky with that double-kill. Then again, the linear cannon was designed to destroy tanks at ranges of a few hundred metres.

"_Something for the guys at EUROFORCE R&D,_" he thought. "_Firepower equals win._"

Returning his thoughts to the mission, Hamid scanned along the remaining hangars, looking for the target. He could not be certain what was in the others, but Hangar 4 was the one he wanted.

It was a matter of a few moments to find it and roll up to the closed doors. There was no sign of anyone, guards or insurgents. Apart from flashes of what might have been gunfire coming from the barracks avenue, the base might have been deserted.

It took a few moments to figure out the hands. They were the trickiest part of any modern frame, yet crucial to its full use. He had to use them to pull the doors apart, not daring to use the cannon for fear of hitting the prototype. Once he had managed to grip the hands onto the door, it was a simple matter to drive the frame sideways, using its full power to pull it open. The door came away in a cacophony of groans and shrieks. This done, it was a simple matter to move into the gap and push the other until the mechanism failed and the door slid slowly open. Now he could gaze upon his prize.

This was it. He had found the right hangar. This was a good thing, because Hamid was pretty sure he was running out of time. Any longer and airborne units would arrive to reinforce the base.

It stood at the back of the hangar, surrounded by diagnostic equipment. Illuminated by the floodlights, Hamid could tell that it was derived from the _Ganymede_, but this was not just an upgrade. It was heavier-set, with oblong plates hanging from the shoulders, and additional armour on the legs, waist, and chest. There was also a head, squat and angry-looking.

"_They even added the internal cockpit. They must've had help from the Ashfords, or Britannic maybe. I'll be set for life when I get this home._"

It occurred to him how _easy_ this had been. Then again, the guards and eight frames should've been more than enough under the circumstances. He had been remarkably lucky, and missions like that depended for the most part on luck.

It was this thought, and a sudden flicker in the shadows on the prototype, that saved his life.

He slewed the frame sideways. An armoured arm flashed past as he raced out into the avenue, turning to look at his assailant.

Hamid felt rather foolish as he saw the frame that might have killed him. It never occurred to him that there might be _two_ prototypes.

If anything, the Version 3 prototype looked even _more_ impressive in action. As it turned to face him, Hamid could make out a bulge extending from the back, which he thought might be the cockpit. A single red eye glowed menacingly from underneath the heavy brow of its short head. By some joyous fortune it did not appear to have any ranged weapons. Instead, crackling oblongs extended from each forearm, as if the frame were carrying a pair of tonfa. Hamid gritted his teeth. This was going to be a challenge.

The prototype came at him, one tonfa outstretched, the other held back. Hamid hauled on the controls, pulling his frame sideways to avoid the charge. But the prototype slid to a halt as it came close, swinging one arm round to strike. Hamid backpedalled, the tonfa slashing through the air in front of him. He tried to retreat, to get far enough away to use his guns, but the prototype stayed on him, matching his every move. It was all he could do to back away, leading the thing on to the still-closed door of Hangar 2. He dodged one last time, the prototype's fist tearing into the door. Hamid slid sideways and raced away, facing the prototype as it struggled to pull itself free. He levelled the linear cannon, only to find the HUD seemingly unwilling to lock on.

"_ECM?_"

The prototype pulled itself free. Close to panic, Hamid fired. The shell tore away the prototype's left shoulder pauldron, but did not stop its advance. Frantic, Hamid fired again, this time blowing away the right shoulder. The prototype began to zigzag, evidently spooked. Seeing only one chance to survive, Hamid launched his frame forward, barrelling into the prototype and knocking it backwards. Together they crashed into the already-perforated door of Hangar 2. The impact flung Hamid forward, and were it not for the crash webbing he would have flattened his head against the HUD.

Shaking off the daze, he pressed the foot pedals backward. The frame shuddered, but would not move. He tried again, but still it would not move. It was trapped. Red warning lights blinked all over the dashboard. A quick glance at them told him that his frame wasn't going anywhere.

Heart pounding, Hamid unstrapped himself and, with some effort, managed to get the cockpit open. He scrambled down the stricken frame and sprinted in the direction of Hangar 4, not daring to look back.

By some miracle it was still deserted. Hamid dashed towards the frame, reaching the bottom of the steps within seconds. He was going to make it. He was going to…

"HALT!"

Hamid almost fell onto the steps, the combination of shock and adrenalin bowling him over. Heart still racing, he turned to see a red-uniformed _Javidan_ soldier advancing on him, assault rifle held steady, aimed straight at _him._

A sense of terrible disappointment and failure came over him as he raised his hands. To have fallen at the final hurdle, when he was so close to success. It was worse, or so he felt at that moment, than falling at the first.

"Did you think we'd let you get the prototype that easily?" the guardsman sneered. Hamid half-hoped he would come close enough to rush him, but the guardsman kept his distance. No fool that one.

"Walk this way!" snapped the guardsman, stepping sideways to maintain the distance. "Keep your hands where I can see them." Hamid made to obey, until he saw something in the glare of the floodlights.

"Perhaps instead of watching me," he commented dryly, "you should be watching your back." The guardsman looked confused for a moment, until a burst of gunfire knocked him to the ground. Hamid strained to recognise the figure hurrying towards him.

"Brother!" the earnest-faced young insurgent cried, stopping just in front of him. "You made it!"

"So I did, thanks to you," Hamid fell quickly into his persona. "Did any of the others make it?"

"No brother," the youth, whose name Hamid remembered was Selim, looked saddened.

"Fear not," he replied, making sure to put the right amount of reverence and import in his tone. "Our mission will yet succeed."

"This is it, brother?" Selim looked up at the prototype in obvious excitement. "Can you get it out of here?"

"I shall, but first," Hamid placed a fatherly hand on Selim's shoulder. "There's something I need you to do for me."

"What is it!?" His smile was so bright, so youthful.

"Die for me." Before Selim had chance to look bewildered, Hamid gripped his shoulder and dragged him sideways, snatching away his rifle at the same time. The bullets tore into his young body and he slumped back against Hamid.

"Brother…" Selim gurgled, slipping to the floor. Hamid looked at the guardsman, who lay in a pool of blood a few metres away. By some superhuman effort he had managed to stay conscious, and even raise his weapon. Hamid saw the hate and frustration in his eyes.

"You know," he commented coldly. "If you're going to make one last effort, try not to hit the minion. It isn't very dramatic."

"_Javid Shah_," the guardsman forced out the words, blood dribbling from his mouth. "_Light of the Aryans_…_light of the world…_" He slumped.

"Sorry guys," Hamid said aloud, as he turned and headed for the steps. "But the bastards win every time. And I'm the biggest bastard of them all!"

They wouldn't catch him dying for a cause. And there wasn't a person he was willing to die for.

Not any more.

_**

* * *

**__**St Darwin Boulevard, Pendragon, Holy Empire of Britannia, May 2006 ATB**_

Alexander fought to control his nerves.

As the black limousine delivered himself and his father to Aries Villa, the place that would be his home for the next year, the eight-year-old boy was wracked with worries. Would he get the bowing right? Would he say the right things? Might he cause offence, or make a fool of himself?

"Compose yourself," Bismarck said from the seat opposite. "You have satisfied me that you can handle yourself. There is no reason for anything to go wrong."

"I know, father." Alexander resisted the urge to fidget. His new outfit was in the Revival style currently popular among the Britannian upper classes, essentially an eclectic mix of 17th, 18th, and even 19th century styles. It consisted of a silk shirt with lace cuffs, under a blue jacket with silver piping and a long white cravat. Completing the ensemble were tight white trousers and black boots reaching to his knees. His hair had been fashioned that very morning into what the twittering hairdresser had dubbed _dishabille, _which upon seeing it he would translate as _stylishly dishevelled. _

He felt like a peacock, and feared that he would be laughed-at. The only part he liked was the child-sized dress sword he wore at his waist. It was the privilege of his rank that he wear it, and he even knew how to use it.

He felt the limousine pull to a stop, and knew it was time. As the door was opened, Alexander followed his father, stepping down onto the finely-carved stone paving.

Before him was the Aries Villa. Its frontage was decorated with an elegant columns in polished stone or marble, and the main building was surrounded by gardens, which Alexander had heard were the finest on St Darwin Boulevard. This was the Imperial Villa, after all.

He also recognised the woman with long black hair waiting for them. It could be none other than Empress Marianne. He also recognized the two children with her. Cornelia had been kind enough to provide pictures. The boy, with the black hair and the slightly condescending look, must have been Prince Lelouch. The girl, who looked about three years old, with long ash-blond-running-to-brown hair, must have been Princess Nunnally. They looked at him with disconcerting purple eyes, which must have been inherited from their mother.

"Lord Bismarck," there was a sparkle in her eyes as she held out her hand. "How wonderful to see you again."

"It is always my honour, your Imperial Majesty," Bismarck took her hand and bowed low, Alexander just remembering to do likewise. The look in her eyes reminded him of Cornelia.

"And this must be little Alexander!" To Alexander's surprise, the Empress bent down to look him in the face. It was all he could do not to look away in embarrassment, though he did not feel threatened by her.

"For shame, Lord Bismarck!" the Empress proclaimed, after examining Alexander closely for a few moments. "Hiding this beautiful child for all this time!" Alexander felt his cheeks reddening. He was not accustomed to being complimented, especially not in _that_ fashion. He wasn't even accustomed to women, though this was no ordinary woman. To look at her, to see the sparkle in her eyes, the kindness in her manner, and to sense the hidden but undeniable aura of strength about her, it was easy to understand why she was held in such regard, even by a man like his father.

"Now, now," the Empress looked him in the eyes, smiling kindly. "You've nothing to fear from me, or from these two," she turned to her two children. Lelouch looked as though he was about to loose his temper. Nunnally looked at him with an innocent artlessness, sucking her thumb.

"Come now, you two," she said, in a tone that for all its gentleness brooked no argument. Lelouch did not move, but Nunnally let go of his hand and toddled up to Alexander. The expression on the Prince's face shifted from irritation to utter disbelief. Alexander looked down at the little girl, who gazed back up at him with those disconcerting purple eyes. He felt decidedly nervous. He wasn't entirely sure what to do. He found himself wondering what was going on inside her head.

Nunnally's cupid-bow mouth broke into a childish grin, and she stuck out one hand in imitation of her mother. Alas, its thumb happened to be drenched in saliva. Alexander was sure it was unseemly for a Princess to suck her thumb, even if she was only three. He was horrified at the thought of having to take it.

But the thought of offending the Empress or embarrassing his father was worse, and he slowly brought up his hand.

"Ah, a moment." Marianne saved him in that instant, quickly pulling out a handkerchief and wiping the thumb clean. Relieved, Alexander took her chubby hand and bowed. The child giggled.

"Now you, Lelouch," the Empress insisted.

"Lulu shake hanz!" Nunnally proclaimed. Alexander felt the fear rising again when he saw the look on the Prince's face.

"Mother!" the boy snapped. "How come he's allowed to wear a sword and not me!?"

"Because he has his father's permission," the Empress replied gently but firmly. "And I'm _not_ going to change my mind."

"Lulu _shake hanz_!" Nunnally insisted, toddling over to Lelouch and dragging him forward. Lelouch, evidently seeing he had no choice, held out his hand. Alexander took it, bowing as he did.

"So glad to have you here," Lelouch said, just about keeping the hostility out of his tone.

"Well now," Marianne interjected cheerfully. "I'm sure we shall all get on well."

**

* * *

****(Finally got this chapter done. Next chapter of 'Sum of our Choices' will be ready soon also. Just so you all know, Hamid is a somewhat less odious version of Ali Al-Saachez, and the Version 3 prototype is modelled on the Tieren mobile suit. Any questions should be directed to The Triumvirate of Rei.)**


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_**St Darwin Boulevard, Pendragon, Holy Empire of Britannia, May 2006 ATB**_

Alexander stretched, enjoying the feeling in his back muscles.

His room was spacious and luxurious. There was soft carpet under his feet, expensive wallpaper with filigree patterns on the walls, a large and very comfortable bed. But the sheer amount of floor space was, for his purposes, its best feature.

He spread his feet, settling into a combat stance. He extended one arm until he felt the muscles pulling, withdrew it, and in a smooth movement extended the other arm. He shifted his waist, stretching his legs in the same fashion, moving one foot as he brought his arms round again. Round, over, under.

It was called _Tai Chi,_ or was at least a derivative of it. In fact, just about every form of stretching exercise generally got labelled as Tai Chi, whether it was or it wasn't. It didn't matter to Alexander though. His father had taught it to him as a morning warm-up exercise, and he found he liked to do it.

He had not bathed that morning. There was no point in doing so until he had finished his exercises. To take care of his appearance, his father had taught him, was a mark of self-respect and respect for others. That included his body odour.

He fell still. His muscles were stretched, and his mind was alive. It was a good feeling.

Alexander visualised an assailant before him. His right fist shot out, striking the phantasm in the face, a blow intended to knock back the head, throw the enemy off balance, and leave him vulnerable. He followed up with a cut from below with his left fist, driving into the vision's stomach. A final blow to the attacker's head finished the imaginary duel.

He repeated the process, but this time the phantasm attacked him in a different fashion, and again, and again. It was a training method taught to him by his father, as a development on the conventional techniques he had already mastered. To simply practice the same moves over and over again, his father had told him, would make him inflexible and predictable. The best technique was to have _no _technique, to be fluid, unpredictable.

He had trained as such every morning for two years. He had surpassed every goal his father had set him. So his father had changed the rules. He had been sent to this place, to live with the Empress, of all people. He would learn how to be an aristocrat, what to say and what to do in any given situation. That wasn't the problem. So long as he knew those things, he would be okay.

The problem…

A shrieking sound from the corridor caught his attention. As he looked up, the door, already ajar, swung open. Alexander stared, shocked.

It was Princess Nunnally. Naked but for some blobs of foam, water dripping off her onto the carpet. Alexander could not believe what he was seeing.

"Nunnally!" Lelouch raced in after her, holding a large and fluffy towel. "Nunnally! Leave Viscount Alexander alone! _Nunnally_!" Mortified, he rushed forward, holding out the towel to catch her.

"No no!" Nunnally shrieked, darting away as he came close, showing remarkable timing. The pair raced around the bewildered Alexander, who found himself quite helpless to do anything.

"Nunnally stop! You're getting soap suds everywhere!" Nunnally managed to break away, Lelouch scurrying after her.

"Nunnally! No _not on the bed_! Come here!" But the three-year-old evaded him once, twice, then darted back through the door, Lelouch puffing and blowing as he followed.

Alexander stood where he was, not quite able to take in what he had just seen. Such chaos had never happened at La Casa Pacifica. Everything there had been orderly and decorous. And back in Tehran, the time he tried to think about as little as possible, nothing like that had ever happened. If someone had been chasing him, getting caught would be out of the question.

The place was so…_uninhibited_. The servants were pretty much like those at his previous home, but they were not _his _servants, so he was a little more standoffish with them. But the Lady Marianne and her children did not behave how he thought Royalty would behave.

"_Are they…a family?_" Alexander had never had a family, at least none that he could remember. There had been no other children at La Casa Pacifica either. As such, he had nothing to compare it to.

He disliked unanswered or unanswerable questions. They weighed on his mind, lingering at the edge of his thoughts, imposing themselves when he least expected or wanted them to. They reminded of him of how little he yet understood.

They reminded him of the mystery of his life. He might be Alexander B. Waldstein now, but who was he before? Who was the boy named Soran, whom he had tried to hard to leave behind? Who were his parents? Why had they abandoned him? Or perhaps they had died. If so, for what?

_**

* * *

**__**EUROFORCE R&D facility, somewhere in the EU, May 2006 ATB **_

The scientists did their best not to stare at the 'consultant'.

Hamid would not have much cared if they had. He found it amusing when people were frightened by him. It could not have been the tattoo, since that was hidden by the jacket of his EUROSEC-issue 'grey man' suit, jokingly dubbed _the last suit you'll ever wear._

It probably wasn't the hair either, not from what he'd seen on the streets of various European cities. They were much too _enlightened_, too _high-minded_, or at least too _busy _to cause trouble over his long red hair.

It was probably the eyes that were getting them, or perhaps that grin of his.

Hamid lounged in his chair as Andrei Velichko, his EUROSEC 'handler', introduced him. Velichko was telling them his full credentials, but Hamid saw little point. He was one of very few people in the world with any expertise regarding Frames. He was all they had to go on.

"We've completed our examination of the prototype," began Professor Fokker. "From what we've found, it's not much different from a conventional frame. The changes are fairly logical for combat. Additional armour, internal mechanisms enhanced for superior reaction, shock-absorbing layers on the inside, upgraded controls, that sort of thing. In short, there wasn't anything particularly unexpected."

"Will you be able to make improvements based on it?" Velichko asked.

"To some extent. We learned a couple of things regarding the internal mechanisms. What's more, we were able to trace the origin of the Frame itself. There are some Britannian parts, but most of them we traced to sources within the current borders of Krugis. This prototype was, in a word, indigenous."

"What you mean is," Velichko's eyes narrowed, "both Britannia and Krugis have the ability to produce combat-capable Frames, and we do not."

"In a word, yes."

"You know, of course," Velichko went on, "that this is not acceptable. Our analysts have concluded that a lack of Frame capability would represent a significant disadvantage."

"We're aware of that, of course," Fokker replied, unconcerned. "We've already begun the development process, and since the consultant…"

"Hamid," Hamid said. "Just Hamid."

"Since Hamid is here, we've prepared the designs for evaluation."

"Okay," Hamid replied, before Velichko could say anything. "Shoot." With that, Fokker touched a button, activating the hologram projector set into the conference table.

"This is our existing design." The image was short and squat, with two insect-like eyes and a protruding cockpit at the back. It sat on bent legs, with two long cannons instead of arms. Hamid eyed it critically.

"What is it?"

"The Mk1-E2E8-_Panzer-Hummel,_" Fokker reported. "Like the ALI it's essentially a conversion package, specifically for Deutsche-Arbeits-Wagen's _Hummel_ series of worker frames. Its armament consists of two 120mm Linear Cannons replacing the arms and two 30mm Autocannons on the waist. The package includes extra armour, improved mobility, and a military-grade control system. DAW's pushing it on the basis of simplicity and affordability."

"I like the arm guns," Hamid said, in a tone that implied he was being exceedingly generous to say so. "They'll help in frame-on-frame fighting. The waist guns aren't good for much though, since you'd have to turn the whole frame to sweep them. What range on those big ones?"

"Rheinmetall's advertising four kilometres," Fokker replied. "They say it could take on a tank at range and win."

"In firepower terms they're right," Hamid allowed. "But not survivability. A tank can take a few hits, a frame can't, at least not from a gun like that. You wouldn't want to use something like that on the flats, at least not without tank support."

"It's probably DAW trying to screw Kraus-Maffei over," one of the scientists spoke up. "Their new _Kaiserpanther_ comes out next month. Rheinmetall profits either way from the guns."

"The legs don't look like they can walk," Hamid commented. "Can they?"

"They can't," Fokker admitted. "Not that we didn't try, but people keep saying it's too complex."

"Show him the _Glasgow_," called another of the scientists. Hamid glanced around the group, saw the looks on their faces, and wondered how long they had waited to tell someone their little secret.

"We made this image," Fokker brought up another hologram, "from Intel pictures provided by your colleagues in EUROSEC." The hologram shimmered into being. It showed a frame, human-shaped this time, with the same protruding cockpit as the _Panzer-Hummel._ Hamid leaned closer, interested. He wondered how much the images had cost EUROSEC, in money, favours, or lives.

"The latest product of Britannia's Humanoid-Armoured-Knight project," Fokker explained. "Something they call a _Knightmare frame_."

"_Knightmare_," Hamid considered it. "Witty. And this one can walk?"

"We think so. They've also given it prehensile hands, meaning it can use a variety of weapons and switch between them efficiently. It's a question of firepower and simplicity versus versatility and efficiency."

"You can argue that one out forever," Hamid retorted. "There's no way to decide it decisively. It's just down to aesthetics, and frankly I prefer this one."

"The analysts reckon they chose the humanoid shape for that reason," Fokker said. "They said it was cultural bias."

"DAW's little kitbash will do as a stopgap," Hamid turned to face Fokker. "But if you want to impress me, come up with something like _that_." He jabbed a finger at the _Glasgow_ hologram.

"Funny you should say that," Fokker retorted with a smile. With a click of his keyboard he dismissed the _Panzer-Hummel_ and _Glasgow, _bringing up two new holograms. Hamid's eyes sparkled as he took in the sleek, humanoid shapes.

"What do you call them?"

"_Joyeuse _and _Durandal_" Fokker said proudly. "They're this department's genuine article, what we're hoping will win over the Acquisitions Committee."

"We'll have a good chance now that the _Kaiserpanther _and the _Typhoon_ are coming out," added another scientist. "It'll free up the development funds."

"Of course," Hamid said, disinterested. "But what did you have in mind for them?"

"The _Glasgow_ is what the analysts are calling a Fourth Generation combat frame. Frames like the _Ganymede ALI _are only Third Generation." Fokker gave Hamid a knowing look. "As you probably know, categorizing them isn't all that simple. There's a great deal of technological overlap, and the prototype you brought us is actually _more_ capable than what's been postulated for the _Glasgow_. We're planning to build something even more powerful than that, what might be called a Fifth or even Sixth Generation combat frame." Fokker tapped a key, and one of the holograms expanded while the other shrunk, bringing it into detailed focus. It had long legs, narrow arms, and wide shoulders, with rounded armour giving it a vaguely organic look.

"This one, _Joyeuse_, we're designing to be a Command-and-Control frame. It'll be good in a fight, but with a system uplinking to our TacNet and StratNet, letting the pilot command other forces."

"An officer's frame," Hamid commented, amused. "And _Durandal _will be a pure combat frame?"

"Precisely," Fokker brought up the _Durandal_ in the same fashion. It was similar, but with shorter legs and heavier armour overall. "We can't effectively predict developments in weapons just now. That will be up to the specialist contractors, like Rheinmetall, Vickers, or EADS. For now, we've been working on developing the capabilities in the frames themselves." Another key, and the right arm was brought into focus. "We've developed a generic interface system for the arms and hands, the idea being to let it to use any hand-held frame weapon. Most of our work has been on the body itself. We need it to be fast, agile, and well-armoured."

"The old zero-sum game," commented Hamid with a grin. "Can you manage it?"

"We reckon so," Fokker replied. "We're also working on the controls and scanners. It's what the Britannians are calling _Factsphere_ technology. Basically a multi-spectral tactical sensor system of the right size for a frame. If we combine this with a suitable body and the right weaponry, our frames should be able to counter any existing weapon."

"That's a nice dream," Hamid scanned his eyes around the assembled scientists. "I may not be a scientist, but it sounds to me like you'll have to combine a lot of advanced technology. How long will it take?"

"We're working on a maximum timeframe of ten years. That's a conservative estimate, based on there being no major breakthroughs and the Corporations not holding out on us. Any additional technology EUROSEC can provide," Fokker gave Hamid and Andrei a meaningful look, "will speed this process considerably."

"I wondered," Hamid smiled malevolently, "when you were going to say that."

_**

* * *

**__**Aries Villa grounds, St Darwin Boulevard, May 2006 ATB**_

It was a beautiful day.

Alexander did not regret having to accompany Prince Lelouch and Princess Nunnally, not if he could enjoy the bright sunshine. It drove away his frustration, and seemed to bathe him in contentment. There was a scent of rosemary in the air.

He stood a pace away from the Imperial siblings, arms behind his back. His posture was perfect, exactly as his father had taught, practiced so much that it was second nature. He was, to anyone who happened to look, a vision of aristocratic refinement.

The contrast to the siblings in front of him could not have been more striking. They were so unrestrained, so _natural_. They seemed to care nothing for poise, for appearance, for propriety. They babbled happily at one-another, still bubbling-over with joy.

They had spent much of the day amusing themselves with Princess Euphemia li Britannia, whom Alexander was interested to note was the younger full-sister of Princess Cornelia. He had nonetheless found it all rather awkward, as he wasn't sure how to behave around little girls. Fortunately his task had been to provide a refuge for Lelouch while the other two played. It was one of few occasions when the Prince actually paid him any attention. He was generally standoffish, even seeming hostile at times. Alexander had the horrible feeling that he knew why. He had intruded on Lelouch's perfect little world. He had drawn away some of his dear mother's attention.

And if he found out his secret…

He was drawn from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps approaching. He looked up, half-expecting to see Princess Euphemia, who had by that point taken her leave. But it wasn't.

There were a group of them, all expensively dressed. They clustered around one woman, one of those whose appearance his father had told him to recognize. She had narrow eyes and a face covered in far too much makeup. There was none of Lady Marianne's gentle grace about her. She might charitably be called _imperious_, but Alexander thought it a stretch.

Lelouch and Nunnally were not exactly happy to see Gabriella la Britannia, not if the looks on their faces were anything to go by. Deciding to fall back on protocol, Alexander stepped up beside the siblings and bowed low.

"What a thing to encounter at this time of day," Gabriella glared at the pair through slitted eyes, as if she was doing them an honour just by looking at them. "The children of a bloodstained consort and…" she noticed Alexander. "The unexpected son? I wondered when I would finally see you. So Lord Bismarck is a mortal man after all!" This brought sycophantic laughter from her coterie.

"Good day to you, Queen Gabriella," Lelouch said, glowering.

"You are your mother's son indeed, with that attitude," Gabriella sneered back. "Your new pet has much better manners." She turned her attentions to Nunnally, who cowered under her glare. "You're the spitting image of your father. Have you met him?" More laughter. "Your hair is the same colour as his." All of a sudden, she grabbed one of Nunnally's pigtails, yanking it hard. Nunnally screamed. Lelouch snarled and grabbed at her hand, but she batted him away.

"Madam!" Alexander was shocked. "You will desist!" Gabriella ignored him and pulled harder.

"Madam!" Alexander snapped, the sound stirring something terrible inside him. "Cease and desist!" He reached out to grab her hand, seeking to prize it from Nunnally's hair, but her other hand lashed out and batted him away. He felt himself crash into the edge, heard the sycophantic tittering of her courtiers, and inside him something snapped.

"Madam!" He stood up, burning with rage, and his hand dropped to his sword.

"No don't!" Lelouch cried, but Alexander did not hear him. He ripped the sword from its scabbard and pointed it straight at Gabriella. There was a sudden pause.

"How ill-bred you are," Gabriella's tone was half-amused, half-threatening, "to point your sword at a Queen of Britannia. I'm not going to let this slide."

"You will desist, madam!" Alexander snapped, anger and humiliation overriding his better judgment. "Let go of Princess Nunnally!" Gabriella humphed and let go, contriving to push Nunnally away so that she fell sobbing to the ground.

"Sir George," she called, and a young bravo among her courtiers perked up like a trained animal. He had blonde hair, and wore a red Hussar-style jacket and pants with tall boots. He wore a sword at his waist.

"My Lady?"

"This ill-bred creature wants a fight, so I suggest you give him one."

"If my Lady wishes," the bravo turned his attentions to Alexander, who was eyeing him with determined eyes. "I can't promise much though, not against a boy with a little poker like that."

"It's his father's letter-opener!" commented one of the courtiers, to a peal of laughter.

"I am Alexander Bismarck Waldstein, Viscount San Clemente!" Alexander snapped.

"Oh really?" the bravo drawled, offering a mocking bow. "And _I_ am Sir George Terrell, second son to his Grace the Duke of Atlanta." It was only then that Alexander noted the slight southern drawl in his accent. "And I cannot forgive you for menacing my Lady Gabriella." There was no outrage in his tone, only cold amusement.

"No!" Lelouch protested, trying to comfort his sister. "Don't fight him! Just say you're sorry!"

"Never!" Alexander shrieked.

"You should listen to your master, little knight," Gabriella sneered. "Don't hold back, Sir George."

"My pleasure, my Lady!" Terrell drew his sword and lunged , the blade aimed straight at Alexander's heart. Alexander danced sideways, the narrow blade whipping past his ear. There was an _ohhh _from those watching. As Terrell's arm went past, he slashed his smaller blade sideways, hoping to catch his sword hand, but Terrell whipped it away. Alexander spun on his heel, jinking his head sideways to avoid another thrust, and brought up his booted foot in a high kick, catching his opponent's forearm. Terrell snarled in pain as Alexander spun away, but did not drop his sword.

Alexander glanced at Gabriella, who was observing the fight with a smile. This was _fine_ entertainment.

Terrell's grin was gone. A fight that should have been a cakewalk was dragging on more than he would like. With a hiss of frustration he thrust again, and again Alexander dodged it. Alexander saw an opening and lunged again, Terrell lifting his sword hand as he approached. He realised too late what his opponent intended. He felt Terrell's hilt catch the top of his head. His vision blurred as he went crashing to the ground.

Snickering, Terrell reached down to take hold of Alexander's jacket collar. Alexander lashed out blindly, and felt his blade catch something. Terrell gave a yell and staggered backwards, blood welling up from the cut on his right leg. It gave Alexander the opening he needed to stand up. He looked straight at Terrell, who was snarling with rage. He readied himself.

There was a deafening crack, followed by a whistling noise. The paving exploded in front of Alexander, revealing a jagged hole precisely equidistant between himself and his opponent. After a second or two of frozen shock they all looked up. The sound of the shot slowly faded into the silence.

Lady Marianne stood at the end of the path, hand on her hip, head back. In her outstretched right hand was an elegant long-barrelled revolving pistol. A thread of smoke wafted up from the mouth.

"Viscount Waldstein, Sir George Terrell, put away your swords." She did not raise her voice, but there was a definite insistence to it. Numb with shock, he felt himself sheathe his sword. Terrell paused a moment longer, then did likewise. Marianne strode closer, and Alexander saw a little girl with pink hair detach herself from the Empress and run over to Lelouch and Nunnally. It was Princess Euphemia, who must have seen the confrontation and rushed to get help.

Alexander forced himself to bow as Marianne came to a halt, still holding the gun. Gabriella's other followers were looking rather scared, but the Queen herself merely looked annoyed.

"How very characterful of you, my Lady Marianne," Gabriella began, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Violence was always your selling point."

"My Lady Gabriella," Marianne's tone was level and elegant. "Have you no servants you can mistreat? Or must you amuse yourself setting your myrmidons on small children?"

"It was a fair fight, Marianne," Gabriella hissed, more than a little defensive. "Your little ward drew his sword on me, and Sir George _attempted_ to defend my honour. Not that it did me much good." She glanced at the cut on Terrell's leg, and Marianne did likewise. Blood ran bright against the white of his trousers.

"Sir George." Terrell looked up, and Marianne saw the shame on his face. She suspected that he would no longer be in favour at Warrick Palace after this.

"Your Imperial Majesty?"

"Sir George, since when do Knights of Britannia pick fights with children?" Her tone sounded amused, but there was a hint of threat there.

"Your Majesty," now Terrell was distinctly nervous. "I did only as I was bidden."

"Liar!" Lelouch snapped. "You enjoyed it till he beat you!" Terrell began to snap a retort, then restrained himself. Marianne tutted, pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve, then bent down and tied it around Terrell's leg, covering the wound.

"Go and have it stitched, Sir George," she said mildly, straightening up. "And let that be a lesson to you." Terrell, now pale with shock, bowed his head and hobbled away. Unable to think of anything to say, Gabriella turned on her heel and stalked off, forcing the unfortunate Terrell to scramble out of their way.

Alexander could not bring himself to raise his head. He could not see the look Lelouch was giving him.

_**

* * *

**__**Fountain Court, St Darwin Boulevard, May 2006 ATB**_

Fountain court was one of St Darwin Boulevard's best features.

It was, as the name implied, a selection of ornamental fountains, inspired by and seeking to outdo the fountains of Versailles. They were not merely pleasing to the eye and a fine example of decorative engineering, but they were also a useful place for private meetings. The constant spray and splash of water made eavesdropping exceedingly difficult.

It was here, ostensibly strolling with Princess Cornelia, that they could talk.

"Your…_subordinates_ allowed a valuable prototype to be stolen," Cornelia narrowed her eyes. "I cannot help but question the wisdom of your policy towards Area 7."

"I welcome your Highness' questions," Bismarck replied, keeping his tone level.

"Allowing Area 7 to maintain its identity is unheard-of," Cornelia began, and Bismarck could tell from her inflection that a tirade was coming. "But to maintain an effectively independent government? And its armed forces? Your generosity, Lord Bismarck, has resulted in the theft of some of our most advanced military technology."

"My generosity, your Highness," Bismarck managed to restrain himself, "was given for the sake of the Empire as a whole. The current policy of suppression is unsustainable, as it invariably breeds armed resistance. You may have noted, your Highness, that in Area 7 there is little or no active resistance, and there have been no attacks on Britannian interests."

"I do not doubt that your policies have been somewhat effective," Cornelia was managing to restrain herself. "But you _are_ the Viceroy. It may be your privilege to rule Area 7 as you please, but that hardly constitutes outright abandonment."

"The former Iranian government asked for our help," Bismarck retorted. "To conquer them outright would be less than chivalrous. Would your Highness have me degrade the Royal House of Iran?"

Cornelia's lip curled. She hated to admit it, but Bismarck had a point. The Shah was a fellow Monarch, and for her father the Emperor to mistreat or degrade him would go against every ingrained instinct. It was as bad in principle as it was in practice.

It had happened once before, in 1945 ATB, in the hour of Britannia's greatest triumph.

There were four men whose memory Britannia cursed above all others. The first was Napoleon Bonaparte, who was responsible for the Edinburgh Disgrace. Second was Michael Tudor, King of Great Britain, whose subsequent ascension had deprived the Britannian people of their homeland. The third was Simon Bolivar, who had thrown back Britannia's first invasion of South America. The fourth was Dom Pedro de Braganza, Emperor of Brazil.

His Monarchy was Constitutional rather than Absolute, both benign and enlightened. His reign saw Brazil flourish as the dominant power in South America, providing economic assistance and military protection to its neighbours, especially from the attentions of Britannia. In return, they broke one of the most sacred of Republican principles, that Monarchies and Republics could not be friends. Peace reigned in South America while Pedro _the Magnanimous_ reigned in Brazil.

All that ended in 1945, as Britannia fulfilled its founding ambition, to extend its rule from ocean to ocean, and pole to pole. The war had dragged on for twelve years, with millions of deaths. Britannia had also shattered the insolent Empire of Japan, so badly that it led to a major political upheaval, but the sheer cost of both campaigns forced Britannia to let the Japanese off with a cash indemnity and the return of the Philippines. Compared to the scale of the victory in South America, having to let Japan wriggle free was a minor annoyance.

The scale of the slaughter had stained Britannia's reputation ever since, but one incident stood out over all others. When Britannian troops took possession of the Palace of Saint Christopher, they found inside the Emperor, who had refused to abandon his people, along with his immediate family, aside from some of the youngest members who had been smuggled out of the country, and several loyal courtiers and servants. When Emperor Theseus arrived two days later, he found only their mutilated corpses.

"Even so," she went on, her tone somewhat less forceful. "It seems unwiseto simply leave Krugis to its own devices. Do you at least have some means of control?"

"Indeed," Cornelia could have sworn she could see amusement in his eye. "I have the control codes for their weapons systems."

"You do?"

"Yes. Outside of Krugis I alone possess them. If they try anything untoward, I can shut them down."

"A wise precaution," Cornelia admitted, somewhat grudgingly. "But you should pass them on to my father, or to other authorities. If something were to happen to you, we would have no means of controlling Krugis."

"I will pass the codes to the Emperor if he asks for them," Bismarck replied. "His Imperial Majesty has not asked me, therefore I shall reveal them to no one."

"I suppose it is your privilege," Cornelia allowed, conceding the argument. She did not doubt for one moment that Bismarck Waldstein deserved the privilege due to the Knight of One, to take any one Area of his choice and rule over it as his own. It was the only way he had gotten away with allowing Area 7, otherwise known as the Kingdom of Krugis, so much autonomy. That and a fair bit of support in the Senate and the House of Lords, but that would not have been sufficient on its own.

"I hear that your son is settling in well," she decided to change the subject.

"So her Imperial Majesty has informed me."

"You have not seen him since he arrived?" Cornelia was not much surprised. Bismarck was a man much like her own father.

"My duties are many and varied," Bismarck replied. "He needs to get used to my not being around."

"That's fair enough," Cornelia mused. "I must thank you again for allowing him to accompany me to Benedict Arnold next year."

"Most of the cadets will have personal servants." Bismarck glanced at her. "It would not do for your Highness to go without one."

_**

* * *

**__**Aries Villa, St Darwin Boulevard, May 2006 ATB**_

Alexander felt ashamed.

No, worse than ashamed. _Humiliated._

He stood in the finely-appointed lounge of the Aries Villa, awaiting his fate. Before him was the Lady Marianne, his benefactor, whose children he had failed to protect, whom he had forced to come to his assistance.

"Please…forgive me, your Imperial Majesty." It was all he could do to keep his voice from cracking. "I…I failed."

"Whatever do you mean?" The gentle tone, far from comforting him, only made him feel worse.

"I…I tried to protect Princess Nunnally," he paused, forcing down the lump in his throat. "I…I've caused you such trouble…I did not mean…to be a burden to your Majesty."

"You're not a burden," Marianne crouched down to look him in the eyes, reaching out a hand to stroke his cheek. He looked away, face burning, but he dared not resist more than that. "You were very brave."

"I…I was supposed to protect them," Alexander whimpered. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes, and it was all he could do to hold them back. "But I couldn't protect them…from her." His throat hurt, causing his voice to croak.

"She is a Queen of Britannia," Marianne said, allowing a little sternness in her tone. "If you had tried to attack her, it would have been treason. I'm not sure I could have protected you from that." She softened. "Leave her to me in the future."

"But…I could have…"

"Sir George is older than you," she cut him off, knowing what he was going to say. "I know you've trained very hard, but so has he. He has been training all his life, and he has lived twice as long as you. You cannot expect to beat him."

Alexander sniffed involuntarily, and felt worse for it. He had never felt like this, not since he was very young. He didn't know how to deal with it. The methods his father had taught him just weren't working.

"You're very brave," Marianne said, lowering her voice. "That's why your father chose you, I think."

Alexander felt a cold dagger twisting in his gut. He backed away, shaking, terrified.

"Your…your Majesty…" This was it. She knew. She would surely be disgusted to have had a street child live with her in her Villa, and pretending to be the son of the Knight of One. He half-expected her to strike him, to shout something horrible, to summon servants to throw him out.

She did none of those things.

"Don't worry," she said. Her expression had not changed. "I knew your father for a very long time, long enough to know that he never found time for a wife." She seemed amused by it all. "He chose you to be his son, so you must be a special boy."

"Does…does anyone…"

"I know, and the Emperor knows. No one else. And I won't tell anyone." Alexander looked into her purple eyes, and felt the last of his reserve drain away.

He let out a howling sob. Tears that he could not longer hold back flowed down his cheeks. Marianne slipped her arms around him and pulled him to her, pressing his head against her shoulder, comforting him as she had comforted her own children so many times.

"_I see_," she thought. "_You are a little boy, after all._" She held him there for a few minutes, rubbing his back, letting the pain and humiliation drain out of him. Six years of raising her son had confirmed many of her suspicions about men, even little men like Alexander and Lelouch.

"There there now," she dried his eyes. "You should get to bed. You've had a busy day."

Alexander nodded, bowed to her, and left the room. Marianne watched him go.

"_I should talk to Bismarck about this,_" she thought. "_There are some things a woman could teach him about children._"

Alexander turned the corner at the top of the stairs. He felt strangely warm inside, in a way he had never felt before. It was a relief too, knowing that Marianne knew his secret, and would keep it. She was an old friend of his father, after all.

"Arixandur?" He paused at the voice. He turned, and saw Nunnally standing just outside her room. She was clutching an enormous pink rabbit, and looking fairly teary-eyed herself.

"Your Highness," he said, falling back into his habit.

"Arixandur don't cry," Nunnally held out the toy. "Here, you can hold Bun-bun."

"Uh," this caught him off guard. "I…I thank you…"

"Nunnally," Lelouch came out of his room, clad in pyjamas. "Nunnally go to bed. Don't bother Alexander."

"But Arixandur's crying," Nunnally protested. "His eyes are red, see." Alexander blushed. His eyes did still feel puffy.

"I'm all right now, Princess Nunnally," he managed to smile. Nunnally stared at him with those big purple eyes, until he began to wonder what she would do. Then suddenly she smiled too, as if nothing had happened.

"Fankyoo Arixandur!" She darted forward, kissed him on the cheek, then ran back into her room giggling. Alexander stood where he was, stunned, then glanced sideways at Lelouch. The Prince looked sideways back at him.

"No one else ever did that for us," he said wistfully. "Thank you…Alexander." Lelouch actually smiled at him. Alexander truly felt better.

"But," Lelouch's expression suddenly darkened. "You can't marry Nunnally!"

"What?" Alexander spluttered, caught off guard. "I…I don't want to marry her!"

"Why not!? You should be honoured to marry her!"

"Yes it's an honour but…!"  
"So you _do_ want to marry her! I won't let you!"

At the bottom of the stairs, Marianne listened to the argument. She chuckled.

**

* * *

****(Sorry for the delay. I had some heavy typing to do, but I had a day off so I was able to finish it. Just so you all remember, Alexander is Soran Ibrahim from Gundam 00, but got a different name. I'm not sure if I've gotten him right, but his experiences have been significantly different from his canon self anyway. I'll do my best to make this work.)**


	4. Chapter 3

****

Chapter Three

**_Benedict Arnold Military Academy, Grand Duchy of New York, Holy Empire of Britannia, April 2008 ATB _**

"Cadets! _Ten-shun_!"

The line of blue-uniformed cadets snapped to attention at the drill sergeant's barked command. Feet together, shoulders back, stomach in, face forward. After a year of daily drill and physical training, they could do it like real soldiers.

Alexander watched from the grass on the edge of the tarmac area that was the new knightmare training ground. Beyond and to his right, he could see the building site that would in a few months be a fully-equipped knightmare hangar and maintenance facility.

As Princess Cornelia's Page, he had no part to play in the unfolding events. He was not even required to be present, unless of course she summoned him. He was supposed to be alert for any summons by Cornelia, though he knew none would come. Cornelia was remarkably self-reliant, and in any case the instructors did not take kindly to cadets ordering their servants around in mid-session. Such indiscipline would result in a black mark on her otherwise clean record.

He had been with Cornelia for almost a year. His duties consisted largely of making sure that Cornelia had everything she needed at her fingertips. This including anything and everything from carrying books to being her fencing partner. She could not be distracted from her studies by a shortage of clean shirts. Were it anyone else, he would find the duties demeaning.

He was not the only one. Many of the other cadets had personal servants. The girls generally had maids to serve their needs, while the boys had valets, usually younger or middle-aged men. He was the youngest servant, and the only one with a title. It made him feel out of place.

Not that he was complaining. Considering how his life might have gone, that he was actually there, in Benedict Arnold Military Academy, as a Page to Princess Cornelia, was miraculous. It was an honour to be of help to her. He enjoyed being able to make everything go right for her, to make her life that little bit easier. And she seemed to enjoy his company too, or at least she had never complained about it.

He found himself staring at the purple hair knotted tidily at the back of her head, as Major Gregor Bruckner, the academy's Chief Knightmare Instructor, stepped forward to address the cadets.

"Cadets!" His voice was harsh and clear. "This past year you have trained hard, and advanced yourselves. Some of you have been with us for one year, some will graduate in a months' time." The line of cadets consisted of a cull of students from the first and second-year Fast-Track classes. The Fast-Track programme gave a shorter, but much more intense and competitive programme of training, allowing exceptional cadets to bypass the usual rigmarole. Cornelia's exceptional exam scores had made her entrance to that elite company a foregone conclusion.

"Today, there will be a special event, to mark the end of this semester." Bruckner gestured at a pair of knightmares being driven up behind him by the ground crew. "You will be paired off and engage in practice knightmare-on-knightmare combat."

There was a cheer from the crowd of cadets behind Alexander. Being so close to the end of the semester, many cadets had free periods, which they were supposed to use for improving activities. A fair number of cadets had decided that watching Bruckner's knightmare master-class counted as an improving activity. This would be a special treat.

To be fair, Alexander was excited too. He had enjoyed watching his Princess train in a knightmare, seeing her prowess improve with every passing day. He longed to be able to try one himself.

Though there were many cadets standing around or sitting on a series of benches put there for that purpose, he was the only servant present. That cadets were allowed to bring servants at all was controversial, or so Alexander had learned not long after his arrival. Some instructors disliked it, believing that the cadets needed to learn self-reliance. It was allowed, however, on the basis that the sorts of duties carried out by servants were things that serving officers would generally have done for them anyway, or else were not of any great relevance. Cadets were not permitted to bring their servants on survival exercises, and in such circumstances the question of whether or not they could launder their own underwear was redundant.

There was another reason, one which Alexander had taken particular notice of. Cadets were entirely and personally responsible for the appearance, care, and conduct of their servants. Anything and everything he did reflected on Cornelia. His honour was her honour, his disgrace was her disgrace. It was a lesson to the cadets in the responsibilities they would face as officers. It was a lesson he had not allowed himself to forget.

Not that he would dream of sullying his mistress' reputation with improper behaviour. This was not just about proving his worth to his father, but proving it to _her _too.

After their names were shouted out, the cadets retreated two by two to the grass. Alexander moved to his Princess' side.

"This'll be a treat for you, Alexander," Cornelia commented, apparently pleased to see him. "It's the first time they're letting us duel like this."

"I can't wait to see you fight, your Highness," Alexander replied, and he meant it.

"Cornelia my dear!" A painfully familiar voice cut through the noise. A tall woman, a year older than his Princess, with short green hair and a pair of disconcerting blue eyes strolled up to them, beaming like the morning sun.

"Good morning, Senior Cadet Enneagram," Cornelia snapped off a quick salute.

"And good morning to you, _Cadet li Britannia_," Nonette Enneagram returned the salute, but with somewhat less snap. "I'm so glad I caught you during this morning's…_entertainment_." She shot a glance at the training ground, as the ground crew readied the two knightmares for the first duel. "I wanted to congratulate you on your grades for this year."

"I thank you, Senior Cadet," Cornelia replied cautiously.

"I think we were right to expect great things from you, Cadet Li Britannia," Nonette cooed, again putting the emphasis on _Cadet li Britannia._ Alexander did not like how disrespectful she was being, but he kept his peace. She could not make use of her status during her time at the academy, a fact that Senior Cadet Enneagram, second year, seemed determined to take advantage of. It was a funny thing, as no one else had tried it.

"I seek to rise on my merits," Cornelia answered, similarly restraining herself.

"I'm sure you do," Nonette drawled, before turning her attention to Alexander. The unfortunate Page stiffened as she squatted down in front of him and began to ruffle his black hair.

"It's not fair," she sighed. "I can't get over how you get such an adorable child for your Page. There's no justice in this world." Cornelia did not reply. Alexander's face reddened. He got such treatment from the other cadets in the Girls' Dormitory all the time, but that didn't make it any less embarrassing. And what was worse, he could see straight into her face at close range.

There was something in those eyes. Something that unsettled him. He could not put his finger on it, but it was there.

"Though you might want to be careful," Nonette's red lips split into a smirk. "There are rumours going around. People are wondering why Cadet li Britannia is keeping a little boy in her room."

Alexander was surprised. What on earth did she mean by that? He was Princess Cornelia's Page, so he had a room adjoining her quarters. What was so strange about that? Even so, he caught the flash of irritation in his mistress' eyes.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Cornelia replied sternly. At all once Alexander could see the other side of his Princess, the strength and dignity that so distinguished her.

"But you seem so fond of him," Nonette pressed, eyes sparkling at her entertainment. "I see you often, smiling at each other, and talking like old friends. I hear people talking. They wonder why Cadet li Britannia is so cold and proud, except when her Page is near her."

"If I paid any mind to rumours, I wouldn't get any work done now, would I?"

"Probably not," Nonette beamed again. "Anyway, must be going! Congratulations once again!" And with that, she strolled off as cheerfully as she had come.

"That woman," Cornelia said in a low voice, "could teach things to tropical skin diseases."

"I don't understand, your Highness," Alexander looked up at her in puzzlement. "What did she mean by rumours?" He wasn't sure, but afterwards he could have sworn that a look of horror flashed momentarily across her face.

"Cadet li Britannia! Cadet Gottwald!" As her name was called, Cornelia shot Alexander a quick smile and then headed out onto the training ground. Her opponent was a man of about her age with turquoise hair. Alexander did not know him well, besides that he was exceedingly diligent and that he had never failed at anything. At least, that was what people said.

The cadets took hold of the ascension cables, and were hoisted up to the cockpits. The knightmares were _Glasgow_ Trainers, with more armour than the version Alexander had seen in the pictures Cornelia had given him. Their weapons consisted of long steel lances, each half as tall again as the knightmare that wielded it, flaring out from the tip in a cone shape. Alexander could make out auxiliary Stun Tonfa on the forearms as well.

On a gesture of command from Bruckner, the duel began.

The two knightmares moved at once, Landspinners dropping into place, lances couched in the manner of knights of old. There was a gasp from the assembled cadets as they clashed, their lances pushing upwards, the clang reverberating across the training ground. They broke apart, sliding backwards with their momentum. They charged again, clashed again, broke apart again. Landspinners screeched as they circled one-another, looking for an opening. One lashed out with its lance, the other parrying with a clang. Another strike, another parry, and another, and another.

Confusion cut through Alexander's excitement. He could not figure out which one was which, so quickly they had moved, so chaotic was their dance. He concentrated, taking in all their movements, looking for _something_ that would give him a clue.

There it was. He saw of the pair dart backwards, the other's lance swinging through empty air. He focussed on it, seeing a grace in its movements that was familiar to him. He had seen it in the sparring sessions. It was his Princess.

Villalobos swung again, but this time he over-reached himself, momentum carrying him forward. Cornelia was upon him, batting his lance aside and driving her knightmare's left fist into his knightmare's head. The head came away in a shower of sparks, the delicate Factsphere crushed to so much scrap. The knightmare staggered backwards, Villalobos evidently trying to regain control, only for Cornelia to strike again, this time to the torso. The _Glasgow _Trainer toppled over, defeated.

Cheers arose from the crowd. Alexander bounced on his heels with excitement as his victorious Princess descended from the cockpit. Accompanied by a dazed-looking Gottwald, she strode back across the training ground, seemingly indifferent to the approbation. Behind them, ground crew in orange uniforms set about removing the two knightmares, their fellows driving out two more for the next duel.

Alexander was waiting for her once Bruckner had dismissed her. He held out a towel as she slumped onto one of the benches.

"Thanks," she hissed through laboured breathing, wiping her brow with the towel. "They _must_ do something about the heat sinks. It's like a sauna in those Trainers."

"You fought so well, your Highness!" Alexander was bubbling over with excitement. "It was like when we fenced!"

"Yes, it was," Cornelia mused. "I have you to thank then, for being such a good sparring partner." Alexander reddened at the praise. "I just wish they'd do something about the heat."

"Did you mention it to the Major, your Highness?"

"No," Cornelia returned the towel. "One does not mention such things to a superior officer. He could tell by looking anyway."

"Oh," Alexander was somewhat crestfallen. "I just thought…since he's a Bruckner…"

"You would be right," Cornelia reassured him. "His family are big noises in Britannic, amongst other things. That's probably how he got his job, and you can be sure everything he notices will end up in the Board meeting pointers."

"Then…this is all a test?"

"Correct again," Cornelia's eyes twinkled. "Nothing like a real fight to test weaponry."

"Cadet Guilford! Cadet Beaumont!" There was sudden interest in the crowd as the next pair was called up. Alexander looked to see two male cadets stride out towards two fresh knightmares provided care of the technical personnel.

It was the one on the right who drew his attention. Tall and lean, he had a thin face and narrow blue eyes covered by a pair of expensive-looking spectacles. His black hair was oiled back into a low pony tail. He had a calm and dignified bearing that revealed nothing of his true nature.

The pair boarded their knightmares and drove out to the start positions. Bruckner dropped his arm.

The knightmares couched their lances and charged. They clashed, slewing sideways as the lances struck. Alexander saw Guilford bring his free arm up, Stun-Tonfa extended. But Beaumont was on his toes, and managed to parry it likewise. The pair spun as if dancing, then split apart, reversing away. There was an _oooooohhh _from the crowd.

The pair couched lances and charged again, clashed again, split apart again. Beaumont couched to charge a third time, but Guilford suddenly changed tactics. As Beaumont's _Glasgow_ raced towards him, Guilford slewed sideways, lashing out with the lance. Beaumont spun, momentum taking him onward as he brought up his lance to parry. Again the reverberating clang. Another roar from the cadets.

"They're stalemated," Alexander said, unable to take his eyes off the fight.

"Really?" Cornelia was similarly entranced. "Your reasoning?"

"They're evenly matched," Alexander went on. Beaumont charged again, Guilford dodged again, trying the same trick with his free hand. Again it was parried. "Cadet Guilford is more adaptable, but he's having trouble with the lance. It'll come down to luck at this rate."

"You may be right," Cornelia mused, more than a little impressed.

After another inconclusive bout the pair backed off. They seemed to be staring at one-another, like hunters ready to pounce. Two war machines in human shape, armoured knights for the modern age. Staring eachother down, waiting for the slightest hint of weakness. No doubt they too were sweating rivers in there.

The cadets were silent. Alexander could feel the tension in the air. Bruckner too was watching the pair intently. Perhaps even he could be surprised.

It was Beaumont who could take no more. The lance-head dropped, Landspinners screeched, the knightmare surging forward. Guilford stood where he was, letting Beaumont come closer and closer. Alexander clenched his fists till his palms stung, unable to tear his gaze away. Closer, closer, closer…

Guilford dropped his lance and jinked sideways, Beaumont's lance passing him under his knightmare's left arm. Beaumont tried to turn, but Guilford brought his arm down hard, knocking the lance down and driving forward with his right. The Stun-Tonfa drove into the _Glasgow_'s torso, electricity arcing over it like bolts of lightning. Guilford leant to his right, spinning both machines around and letting go. Beaumont's knightmare slid backwards, legs gyrating like some mechanical break-dancer, then collapsed to the ground.

The cadets roared their approval. Their exultation drew Alexander along with it. The cheering grew louder as Guilford descended from his cockpit, then strode alongside Beaumont, who had managed to extricate himself, back to where Bruckner awaited them. The officer actually looked pleased, though Alexander could not hear what he was saying. There was one last surge of cheering as the two cadets shook hands and headed over to the grass, where their classmates rushed to greet them.

"Cadet Guilford!" Cornelia called, standing up and heading over to her victorious classmate. The other cadets backed away as they saw her coming. Alexander was not much surprised. They might call him _Gilbert_ or even _Gil,_but Cornelia never called anyone by their first name. No one except himself, that is.

"Your Highness," Gilbert G.P. Guilford turned to face Cornelia, snapped to attention and inclined his head in respect. He was not really supposed to, since it was ordered that Cornelia be treated as any other cadet. This had never seemed to faze him, however.

"You performed well out there," Cornelia commented. "An interesting move, dropping the lance like that."

"I found it unwieldy, your Highness," Guilford replied, looking straight at her but not into her eyes. "I would have preferred a sword."

"It looked unwieldy," Cornelia agreed. "And someone else thought so too." She raised her right hand and snapped her fingers. Alexander saw the gesture and hurried to her side.

"Cadet Guilford," Cornelia gestured to the eleven-year-old. "This is my Page, Alexander Bismarck Waldstein, Viscount San Clemente. Alexander, Cadet Gilbert G.P. Guildford." Guilford acknowledged Alexander with a slight bow, Alexander replying with a simple nod. He outranked the cadet, after all.

"Alexander here is quite astute," Cornelia went on, a twinkle in her eye. "He guessed what you would do before you did it."

"I…I only guessed, your Highness," Alexander blushed. "I said he was more adaptable."

"I am honoured by your praise, my lord Viscount," Guilford replied gravely.

"Cadet Enneagram! Cadet Villalobos!"

"Come," Cornelia gestured for Guilford to follow as the cadets headed back to the benches. "I want to see how she performs." Cadet and Page followed after her, Guilford sitting a respectful distance away, Alexander standing behind.

As before, both cadets boarded their knightmares, drove out a safe distance from the crowd, and faced off. The cadets were mesmerized, already excited by the previous performance, and wondering what was coming next.

Bruckner dropped his arm. The knightmares couched and charged. A cry rang out from the cadets, rising in pitch as they came closer and closer. Neither seemed about to turn. Alexander thought they would collide.

Nonette suddenly dropped, her knightmare doing the splits. She slid sideways and around, crab-like, catching Villalobos from behind with the lance. Villalobos' _Glasgow_ crashed to the ground and slid forward, out of the fight. Nonette's knightmare straightened up, then stood where it was. It seemed almost nonchalant in its manner.

There was silence, then muttering from the cadets as Nonette strolled up to Bruckner, who looked fairly shocked himself. Guilford was staring, as was Cornelia.

Nonette, for her part, was still smiling.

"She must have mastered the legs," Alexander said, hoping to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"I agree," Guilford added. "But being able to handle both the arm _and_ leg controls?"

"It would seem," Cornelia spoke up, coming out of her shock, "that Senior Cadet Enneagram is a little more capable than her manner would imply."

"I'm sure you can beat her, your Highness," Alexander said, and he meant it. Cornelia turned to look at him, staring into his eyes for a moment longer than necessary.

"You need not fear for me, Alexander," she replied, her usual poise returning.

Alexander did not want to believe it, but he could have sworn he had seen fear in her eyes.

_**

* * *

**___

_**Albany, Grand Duchy of New York,**_ _**Holy Empire of Britannia, April 2008 ATB**_

It was a dark and stormy night.

Not that anyone noticed. It was not easy to notice such things in a deep basement. That minor flaw aside, it was a good place for a secret meeting.

Hamid was fairly certain that he was still in the city of Albany. That was where he had met the representatives of his new 'allies', and the drive in the car with the black-tinted windows had not lasted long. That he was in a basement was based on a hunch; in terms of air pressure and humidity, it _felt_ like a basement. In any case, he had no idea of where he was.

This was not necessarily a bad thing. It meant that they were somewhat more competent, or simply less overconfident, than some of the groups Hamid had worked with. There was no way he could reveal the location of their hideout.

So there he was, seated at one end of a long table. The table was itself as featureless as the walls and floor of the basement. There were seven other people seated at the table, three on each side and one at the end. Thanks to EUROSEC he knew the identities of two of them. The one at the end was Herbert Baker, originally a high-level member of the a group called the Sons of Liberty, now the de-facto leader of those present. On his left was Artemis Tower, likewise formerly of the Sons. On his right was William Poole, noticeably younger than the aforementioned, whom Hamid knew already. He noticed that the other two on his side were also relatively young. These, he suspected, were the _new shirts_. The differences between the two threesomes was marked, even to someone without Hamid's extensive experience in dealing with terrorist groups. The old guard were well-dressed, behaving with the stern dignity of those who thought they were better than everyone else. The younger members on the other side were the opposite, lounging in their seats with studied arrogance. They might as well have put their feet on the table.

The only decoration was a flag hanging from the ceiling at the opposite end of the basement. Its background consisted of seven vertical red stripes alternating with six white stripes. The main device was a sword superimposed over a stylized flame, a letter F positioned either side of the sword.

It was the flag of Freedom's Flame, the group Hamid had chosen for his mission.

Freedom's Flame, or FF, had split away from the Sons of Liberty only a few years earlier. Anyone who knew anything about such groups had seen the split coming for some time. The causes were many and complex, but the big one had happened in 1997 ATB, with the coronation of Emperor Charles zi Britannia. The Sons of Liberty, along with several similar organisations, had released a new statement of intent. The crucial part of this statement was that the Sons of Liberty had no hostile intentions against the person of the Emperor or the House of Britannia, that it would not condone or support any such intentions by others, and that it did not seek the removal, by any of means, of the Monarchy or the House of Britannia. Its mission was, according to the statement, merely to bring about the peaceful reform of Britannia's political system in accordance with the ideals of the American Revolutionaries, by legal and loyal means.

To those who now made up FF, this was an unforgivable betrayal. To abandon anti-monarchism was, to them, to abandon one of the basic principles of the American Revolution. The only possible response had been to leave the organisation and set up their own, this one dedicated to the destruction of the House of Britannia and the establishment of a republic by whatever means necessary.

In Hamid's experience, that meant unrestrained violence.

Seeing them seated along either side of the long table, he knew the types. The ones on the left fell into the pissed-off intellectual category, which made sense for ex-members of a think tank. The others, evidently led by Poole, were new members who better suited the new organisation's intended purpose. He knew _that _type very well.

"Gentleman, I call this meeting to order," Baker began. "We are here to hear a proposal put to us by our guest," he gestured at Hamid, "Mr Ali Al-Saachez, formerly of the Federal Republic of Krugis, brought to us care of Mister Poole."

"Thank you, Mr Chairman," Hamid replied graciously. "It's an honour to be here."

"Before we begin" Tower spoke up. "I want to know why this…_person_ is here?" He turned to look straight at Hamid. "What is your interest?"

"Interest?" Hamid feigned bewilderment. "Do I need an interest?"

"I want to know whether you have any interest in our cause," Tower went on, "or are you just a professional terrorist?"

"A _professional terrorist_?" Hamid mused, in a slightly mocking tone. "I…_suppose_ that's what I am. The question is, what is it to you?"

"Then why should we trust you?" Tower almost snarled. "Your kind sell their politics for cash!"

"I say we hear him out," Poole spoke up from Baker's left. His two cronies murmured support.

"Chairman!" Tower turned to Baker, evidently rattled. "How can we trust him if he doesn't believe in our cause!? He's a _mercenary_!"

"So…_what_!" Poole interjected again. His two followers shot their opposite numbers dismissive looks. Hamid sensed a fault line here, between the old guard and the new members. It was something he knew well how to exploit.

"_These groups are the same._"

Hamid regarded the young man named William Poole, Bill to his cronies. There was a charming boyishness about him, with his wavy, honey-coloured hair and his wide blue eyes. He might look innocent on the surface, but Hamid knew him for a bloodthirsty killer, willing and happy to commit any crime if it benefitted the cause in some way. Poole had been his initial contact with FF, and he had endured countless hours being regaled with stories of his many killings and bombings. He reminded Hamid of a younger version of himself.

This made him the perfect tool, for he knew himself well enough to know how he used to think. On the other hand, he could not shake the feeling that the youth _admired_ him.

"Since we have brought him here," Baker spoke up, "we shall hear him out." He ignored the look Tower gave him. "Mr Al-Saachez, we understand that you have an operation in the planning stages."

"As it happens, I do," Hamid answered. "One that will make your group incorrigibly wealthy and at the same time inflict an unbearable humiliation on the authorities."

"We're listening."

"My plan is, in short," Hamid went on, "to break into Benedict Arnold Military Academy and steal as many of their knightmares as we can." There was an uncomfortably long pause.

"Are you insane?" spluttered Tower. "Break into Benedict Arnold?"

"Why not!?" snarled Poole. "It's the perfect way to show we mean business!" Hamid scanned the table, and could tell by their body language that many of those present agreed.

He knew it would get their attention. On the list of men people like FF loathed, Benedict Arnold came a close second. It was he who had, for reasons historians were still bickering over, defected to loyalist forces during the ill-starred American Revolution, bringing with him the rebel fort at West Point. Like Benjamin Franklin, Benedict Arnold was the human face of historical injustice, a symbol of a stolen destiny. Hamid had harboured little doubt that an attack on the institute named in his honour would get FF on board in short order.

"Besides!" spoke up one of Poole's followers. "We could really use those knightmares!"

"Nonsense!" one of the old guard interjected with a snort. "How are we supposed to conceal and support such machines as those?"

"We're not going to use them," Hamid chose this moment to explain the rest of his plan. "We're going to _sell_ them."

"So that's it," Tower turned on Hamid, eyes blazing. "This _is_ all about money to you!"

"Gentlemen, let us think things through carefully," Hamid spread his hands and tried to sound reasonable, resisting the urge to put Tower's head through the wall. "You need money, and lots of it. Knightmare Frames are more trouble than they're worth to you at the moment, so selling them is the logical course."

"Have you a buyer?" Baker asked cautiously.

"I certainly have," Hamid's smile widened as he warmed to the good part. "Fifty million for one _Glasgow_, and thirty million for each additional unit. Transactions via Switzerland." He paused for a few moments, enjoying the avarice in their eyes and on their faces.

"That," Poole gave Hamid a feline grin, "is a lot."

"I trust there will be no objections?" Hamid glanced along the table, knowing by looking that there would be none.

"I put it to the vote," Baker intoned. "All in favour raise your hands." All except Tower did just that.

"The ayes have it," Baker said. "We will put your plan into effect, Mister Al-Saachez."

"Thank you," Hamid beamed. "I suggest we begin planning immediately. I expect the entire process to take more than a year."

"That long?" Poole looked surprised.

"I know a few tricks that will let your fighters get past the academy's security," Hamid began. "The vetting process is too tight for infiltration, but we can still figure out the academy's layout from publicly available information. You'll need firearms and explosives to get inside, along with HGVs to carry the knightmares away, and somewhere to hide them until they can be delivered. This will require a great deal of planning and a great deal of _money_. I will need your complete cooperation if this is to work.

"You have it," Baker said, with mutters of agreement from the others, Tower the lone exception. He just sat where he was, glaring at the newcomer who had humiliated and isolated him in his own organisation. Hamid

"_Hook, line, sinker,_" he thought, satisfied.

* * *

_**Benedict Arnold Military Academy, Grand Duchy of New York, Holy Empire of Britannia, April 2008 ATB**_

It was late, and Alexander had only one duty left to perform.

It had taken him downstairs to the mail room, where he had taken receipt of a single envelope. It was pink and rather expensive-looking, with Cornelia's name and mailing address in delicate handwriting. He recognized it as that of Princess Euphemia, Cornelia's younger sister. This left him in a good mood, for he knew she would be happy to receive the letter. It might cheer her up after the incident that morning.

Enthused, he almost danced across the room towards the open door of the bathroom. So focussed was he on the letter, that he forgot why his Princess was in the bathroom in the first place.

"Your Highness! There's a…"

He froze.

She was just standing there, in the bathtub. Cornelia herself, with literally nothing left to the imagination.

Alexander could see it all. He could see her slender neck, her shoulders and narrow arms. He could her breasts, so large and round, crowned with pink nipples. His eyes moved of their own accord, travelling down her dripping body, taking in the contours of her hips, her long and shapely legs, her…

Alexander felt hot all over. He felt blood rushing into his head. A feeling of utter terror coursed through him. All the while Cornelia just stared back at him, wearing an expression of mild surprise.

"I'm terribly sorry!" he shrieked, dropping the letter and sprinting out of the bathroom and out of her quarters. He raced along the corridor and down the stairs, unable to even think. The sight of her just played over and over again in his mind's eye.

Tears welling in his eyes, he rounded a corner and raced into a dark room. Not thinking to turn on the light, he hunkered down in a corner where no one could see him, though no one was actually there. He hugged his knees, sniffing as tears ran down his face.

He had seen her. He had seen her _naked. NAKED!_

There would be no forgiveness. It did not matter that he had given her no cause for complaint, done everything as he was supposed to, acted as a good Page. He had been taught that to look at a naked woman was the most dreadful of transgressions, and yet he had done so, because he had been too fixated on the letter to remember that she was in the bath. He was, officially, a pervert.

He sat where he was, with only a low humming and rumbling for company, for he had somehow managed to run and hide in the Laundromat. He felt terribly alone, more so than he had in a long time. He would surely be punished, perhaps even sent back to his father in disgrace. Would his father want him anymore? Would even Lady Marianne, who was so like a mother to him, forgive what he had done?

He sniffed, wiping at his eyes with his cuff. He still had his duty. It would do him no good to hide in the Laundromat. He would just have to face her and hope for the best.

Red-faced and puffy eyed, he began to stand up…and then stopped suddenly.

It was dark in the Laundromat. He had forgotten to switch the light on, so the glow of the security lights through the window provided the only illumination. As such, he had noticed the sudden change in the shadows, new and brighter light moving across the back wall. It was enough to stop him where he was, to make him wonder what was going on.

Someone was shining a torch.

Then he heard them. Furtive footsteps, someone creeping through the doorway. The torches, for he was sure there were several, flashed on and off. He could hear frantic whispers, in voices he was sure were male.

The adrenalin drove away his sorrow as he crept out of his hiding place, pausing only to curl his hand around a wooden mop handle. Thus armed, he tiptoed along behind the back row of machines. He had to get close enough to hear what they were saying.

"…it quiet or they'll hear…"

"…check out these…"

"…don't have time…"

Alexander halted at the end of the row, then eased his head out, ready to pull back in if someone looked his way. He could not see much, except for vaguely human shapes lurching through the darkness. One of them pulled one of the machines open, shining his torch inside.

Alexander watched in disbelief as the shape crouched down by the machine. It had the face of a young man, illuminated in the torchlight. His face was twisted with wicked glee.

"That prig Gottwald doesn't know what he's missing!" came a remarkably loud whisper from the other end of the Laundromat.

"We'll kick his ass later!"  
"Hey guys!" The youth began fingering the laundry inside the machine. "I think this is _her_ stuff!"

"Whose?" came another voice.

"Princess Cornelia's!" the youth hissed back. Alexander's eyes widened in horror as he pulled a pair of panties from the machine and held them up for all to see.

"Geez! _Sports_ panties!" grumbled a shadow standing at his shoulder.

"Hey wait!" hissed one of his cohorts. "Don't take _her_ stuff! There'll be hell to pay!"

"Quit whining!" hissed another. "No one's gonna catch us!"

Alexander willed his heart to still. This must be one of those _Panty Raids_ he had overheard the female cadets complaining about. They had evidently come to steal underwear.

Would they steal _her_ underwear?

Alexander forced himself to look again, keeping a tight grip on the mop handle. His heart clenched in horror as he saw the youth hold the panties to his nose. He stared in horrified fascination as the intruder took in a deep, snorting breath.

"Friggin pervert!" snarled one of the other intruders. "Hurry up!" The youth ignored him, laying the panties on his face with a moan of pleasure.

With a shout of fury he leapt out from behind the machine and ran straight at the interloper. As he closed he saw the pervert look up in surprise. The surprise turned to horror as Alexander brought the mop handle up in a sideways slash.

It struck his head with an almighty crack, so hard that it broke in half. The pervert collapsed backwards, his head hitting the machine behind him. Alexander braced his legs in a combat stance, brandishing the broken mop handle in front. The other interlopers had noticed him. He flinched as the torches turned on him.

"It's a kid!"

"I've seen him! He's her Page!"

"What're ya gonna do with that!" sneered one of the intruders. Alexander could see his face in the torchlight, the lower half concealed by a black scarf. "Gonna fight me with it? Huh? Huh?"

"You idiot!" snapped one of the others. "Let's get out of here!"

"He's just a kid!" the first interloper, apparently their leader, took a closer look at Alexander, who stared back with hateful eyes.

"Think you're tough do ya?" the cadet's tone was mocking, straining Alexander's frayed nerves. "Think you're a real fighter!?"

"You…" Alexander snarled, raising the jagged handle to _en garde_. "You _won't_ touch Princess Cornelia's things! I _won't let you_!" The intruders stared at him in disbelief.

"The hell!" the leader snarled, advancing on him, "you're just a _kid_!" Alexander lashed out with the broken handle, but the intruder batted it aside with one hand, slamming the other straight into his torso. Alexander felt himself fly backwards, hitting the wall with a thump. His chest was in agony, and his head spun with the impact. He could hear their derisive laughter.

"Come _on_!" it was the nervous one again. "Enough! Let's go!"

"No!" the leader snarled, his blood up. "I'm not done with this brat yet!"

Alexander tried to clear his mind, to think of something. He glanced from side to side, seeing only his enemies. Some seemed to be enjoying the affair, while others were looking nervous, perhaps fearful that someone would hear them. His pride would not let him cry for help, and they could be upon him in an instant if he tried. He glanced upwards for a second, seeing only a small red box by the door. It was the fire alarm.

_The fire alarm. _

Keeping his eyes firmly on the leader, he struggled to his feet, doing his best to ignore the pain in his chest.

"I…I won't give in to _you_," he snarled, with all the vehemence he felt.

"Give it up kid," the leader sneered. "I don't fight with children."

"No," Alexander thought fast. He _had_ to goad his enemy if his desperate plan was to work. "You just like to steal women's underwear."

"Watch it kid!" his enemy snapped, riled.

"You're not an officer," Alexander managed a sneer. "You're…a _pantywaist_!"

"That does it!" His enemy boiled forward, all reason gone. Alexander could not dodge him, nor resist his attack. All he could do was time his move, and hope it worked.

He let himself falling, dropping to the floor right in the enraged cadet's path. He felt the young man's feet catch under him, heard him yell as he toppled forward. Then he heard the tinkle of broken glass. The world seemed to hold its breath.

The alarm was the sound of a bell being rung _very_ hard and _very_ loud. Alexander felt as though his ears would split. The only other thing he could hear was the sound of feet, those of the interlopers nearby, and a rumbling from above. His plan had worked.

He pulled himself to his knees as the door crashed open. The light blinded him as it was switched on, forcing him to raise his arm to his eyes.

The female cadets swarmed into the Laundromat, clutching an array of improvised weapons. They looked angry and surprised. Some of them ran over to the open window, out of which the interlopers had fled. Others clustered around their leader, who appeared to have knocked himself unconscious against the alarm box. He could barely hear them over the ringing.

"…got away…"

"…off that alarm or…"

"Where are…"

The alarm stopped, and they finally noticed him.

"Alexander?" Monica Kruszewski, a good-natured young woman with long blonde hair, cocked her head in surprise. "What're you doing down here?"

"Stand aside!" Cornelia swept through the cadets, ignoring their protests. Alexander stared at her as she advanced on him, trying to rise to his feet. He prepared himself for the blow, for her curses.

She steadied him with one arm around his shoulders, while unbuttoning his shirt with the other. The cadets craned their necks to watch, wincing when they saw the livid bruise on his chest.

"Alexander," she said sternly. "Was it _him_!?"

"Princess…" he spluttered.

"Was it?" He managed to nod.

"Poor little guy!" Monica snapped, outraged.

"You're gonna pay!" One of the other girls gave the unconscious interloper a kick. Some of the others gathered around and did likewise.

"You think you can steal our underwear and get away with it!?"

"Pervert!"

"Hey, Cornelia!" Monica picked up the dropped panties and stretched them between her forefingers. "Are these yours!?" Alexander saw the panties, then realised with a horrible jolt in his stomach that most of the girls were in their underwear.

"Put those back in!" Cornelia snapped, covering Alexander's eyes.

"Well, well," came the familiar voice of Nonette Enneagram as she swept in. "Looks like someone's been having a wild night." At the sight of her, the cadets backed away from the interloper, who was still prone on the floor. Nonette examined him critically, turning her gaze to Alexander and Cornelia, then back to the cadets.

"Not the most competent of panty-raiders," she commented with a smirk. "Tripping and knocking himself out on the fire alarm. That's one for the record."

"Senior Cadet!" shrieked one of the cadets from another row of machines. "They took some of my underwear!"

"Mine too!" exclaimed another.

"That's it!" Monica snarled, her gentle face twisting in anger. "Let's cut his balls off!"

"Ah ah ah!" Nonette interjected, stepping over the unconscious interloper. "We'll have no ball-cutting tonight. This dormitory has traditions which must be upheld." Monica backed down.

"All right," she clapped her hands for order. "It's time you learned the traditional punishment for panty-raiders. I need a sharp knife, some rope, a can of fluorescent paint, and three pairs of the oldest, foulest panties you were going to throw out anyway." She clapped her hands again. "Chop chop! We don't have all night!" The cadets snapped to their tasks. Alexander found himself wondering at how easily Nonette could get them to obey her. He suddenly remembered that look of fear in Cornelia's eyes that morning.

"Cadet li Britannia, I suggest you take him upstairs," Nonette turned her attention their way. "He's a bit young for what's coming. It'll probably traumatize him for life."

"As you say, Senior Cadet." To Alexander's shock, Cornelia actually picked him up and carried him towards the door, his head on her shoulder.

"And what do you all say!?" Nonette called, acting more like a teacher at a girls' boarding school than a military cadet.

"Thank you Alexander!" the girls called as they passed, some of them reaching to ruffle Alexander's hair.

Alexander was too shocked to protest, or do anything, as Cornelia carried up the stairs and back to her quarters. Neither said anything as she sat him on his bed and left the room. She soon returned with her First-Aid kit.

"You've got a bad bruise there," she commented, opening the kit on the floor. "And some cuts and grazes. You were lucky, all things considered."

"I'm sorry, your Highness," Alexander said contritely, sitting with his hands on his knees. "I've cause you so much trouble."

"Oh don't worry about it!" Cornelia insisted. "It was my fault for not locking the door. Just be more careful next time." She set about dabbing a graze on his forehead with some cotton wool.

"I…couldn't stop them." He was remembering the time, one year ago, when he had failed to protect Prince Lelouch and Princess Nunnally from Queen Gabriella's bullying. He also remembered that night in Tehran, in his old life, when he would surely have died had his father not saved him.

It hurt to be unable to do what he knew in his heart he _had_ to do.

"Alexander, it's only underwear," Cornelia said with a sigh. She looked over him for a while, taking in the curly black hair, the dark complexion reminiscent of his father, the unnaturally intense eyes, the muscles hardened by years of training.

She was more than a little jealous. Had she been allowed to start as young as he, when she had wanted to, how strong might she have become? But it had taken years and much horse-trading before her mother had given in and allowed her to learn fencing. And when she had announced her intention to pursue a military career…

At the same time, she couldn't bring herself to entirely approve of how Bismarck Waldstein had raised his son. Alexander was mature and capable beyond his years, but Cornelia had noticed that he did not take well to failure. It was something he would have to overcome, or it would be the death of him. He was still young, and needed to learn that not every battle could be won.

"Incidentally," she squatted down in front of him, pulling a wrapped package from her pocket. "I almost forgot to give you this. For your valour this night, you deserve it even more."

Uncertain, surprised, Alexander took the package from her. He unwrapped it to reveal a small black box. Heart pounding, he opened it, to find inside a knightmare key, identical to the one Cornelia possessed.

"I asked Major Bruckner about it, and he agreed," Cornelia explained, beaming. "You'll start with the rest of us next semester."

"Oh," Alexander was overcome. Was he really to be allowed to train in a knightmare? After he had let her down so badly? "Your Highness...I..."

"Happy Birthday, Alexander." She leaned closer and kissed him lightly on the forehead, before setting about putting away the First Aid kit.

Alexander felt as though he was dancing on air.

**

* * *

****(Sorry this took so long, but things have been complicated over the festive season. I want to make it quite clear that Soran is not a little pervert. He's just had a run of bad luck [or good luck, depending on your point of view], rivalled only by Negi Springfield. I know he's a lot different from the Soran we know, but I justify this on the basis of his somewhat different upbringing. Incidentally, I was guessing regarding Cornelia's taste underwear, but I thought she'd take a practical approach. **

**I'll admit I took a risk using Nonette Enneagram, since there is little or no information available regarding her, and she doesn't even have a speaking part in the anime. I couldn't find an age for Monica either, so I made her Cornelia's contemporary in this case. **

**Benedict Arnold Military Academy is essentially West Point, but with a somewhat different history. West Point was indeed a fort under the command of Benedict Arnold, but in real history his attempt to surrender it failed after British Major John Andre was captured carrying relevant papers. The knightmare training ground is entirely fictional. **

**The arms contractor Britannic is an allusion to the Zeon-based mobile suit manufacturer Zeonic from the Gundam franchise's Universal Century continuity. The Bruckner family was mentioned in one of the Light Novels as one of the great families of the Britannian Empire. The Lances are prototypes of the Shot Lancers seen in R1, but without the rocket feature. **

**Queries regarding this fic should be directed to the Triumvirate of Rei, now known as Zaru.) **


	5. Chapter 4

****

Chapter Four

_**Benedict Arnold Military Academy, **__**Grand Duchy of New York, Holy Empire of Britannia, **__**February 2009 ATB. **_

Alexander gritted his teeth.

His eyes flashed between the tactical layout and the main screens. The layout warned of tanks, but he could not see them. The screens showed him what the main camera in the head could see, in three screens arranged for maximum visibility. Yet he saw no tanks.

He continued on forward, cresting a low hill, and there they were. Three of them, old Soviet T-84's, oval turrets swivelling to face him.

Alexander thrust the joysticks forward, driving the _Glasgow _onward. He had to close the range or he would be dead. He saw one of them line up, yanked the controls sideways, felt the knightmare changed direction. The gun fired, the shell whipping past. Seeing his chance, he levelled the Assault Rifle and pressed his thumb against the rollerball trigger. A stream of 30mm rounds poured into the narrow gap between turret and hull, the turret flying off in a bright flash.

Alexander slewed his knightmare around, allowing himself no time to enjoy the kill. The other two tanks were backing away, turrets swivelling. Alexander surged towards the one on the right, sending a burst of fire into the sensor unit set just above the gun. He saw it explode, and turned his knightmare as he passed. Again he fired into the turret joint, again it flew off. The wrecked tanks cooked-off, spitting flaming sparks like fireworks, as though to celebrate his victory.

But he knew his victory was not yet complete. He could see the third tank, which had backed away in another direction, its main gun just about upon him. The 120mm smoothbore was obsolete technology, but a direct hit would finish him with plenty to spare.

Alexander realised that he was going too fast. If he tried a regular turn he would fall over, and if tried a wide turn the tank would almost certainly get him. He had no choice but the splits.

He did not think. He merely _did. _

Alexander pressed hard on the pedals, forcing them down and sideways, spreading the knightmare's legs. He fought to maintain his balance as the knightmare began to turn. He readied to fire the Assault Rifle…

One of the legs slipped out from underneath, sending his knightmare crashing to the ground. Alexander felt his cockpit lurch, throwing him back against his headrest. He shook his head to make his eyes focus, only to stare straight down the barrel.

A flash. Another lurch, and all was red.

All, that is, except the words on the main screen.

**YOU ARE DEAD**

Alexander gave a snarl of frustration. He had messed it up _again_!

A beeping noise from his right drew his attention, and he turned to see that the external comm unit was warning him of a visitor. Alexander pressed the Answer button, and the smiling face of Princess Cornelia appeared on the main screen.

"Hard luck, Alexander," she said cheerfully.

"Princess!" Alexander's face flushed in embarrassment. "I…!"

"Don't worry!" Cornelia chuckled. "I said your free time was your own and I meant it. I just came because Lady Marianne would scold me if I didn't feed you properly." Surprised, Alexander glanced at the chronometer, which read 19:34.

"I'm sorry, Princess," Alexander was now even more embarrassed. He had completely forgotten the time. "I…I was just…"

"Practicing, I know," Cornelia gave him an indulgent smile as he climbed out of the simulator. "You'll wear the simulators out at this rate."

"I just want to get better…Princess."

"I know that," Cornelia ruffled his hair affectionately. "But you have to pace yourself. The splits are remarkably difficult."

"You were watching, Princess?" Alexander looked up at her in surprise.

"On the screen," Cornelia gestured at said screen, which loomed over the line of simulators. "You did very well. Didn't he, Cadet Guilford?"

"He certainly did, Princess," said the familiar voice of Gilbert Guilford, who was standing nearby. "Using the dead ground to get close goes without saying, but your shooting has definitely improved. You probably would've made it had you not tried that manoeuvre."

"But I wanted to beat your time, Cadet Guilford," Alexander admitted, climbing down from the simulator. "I couldn't do it otherwise."

"You can't expect too much of yourself," Cornelia insisted. "You're still young. And Guilford and I have been doing this a lot longer. Even we seniors have trouble when we turn the auto-coordinator off." Alexander blushed again.

The auto-coordinator was one of the most important features of a knightmare frame's control system. Just as a jet fighter had automated attitude controls for greater manoeuvrability, so a knightmare had its auto-balancer to handle the actual movements. While it made piloting a knightmare relatively easy, it also seriously limited the devicer's options, largely for reasons of safety. Like their comrades in the air force, many of the more reckless devicers had taken to turning their auto-balancers off, allowing them direct control over the knightmare's movements. This allowed for much greater agility and manoeuvrability, so long as the devicer could handle it. It might just as easily land an overconfident devicer in a tangled heap of metal and composite, adding insult to potentially serious injury.

The _Glasgow _incorporated its auto-coordinator into the electronics suite, whereas older models had it as a separate unit, which any devicer could bypass if they knew how. The option of switching the auto-coordinator off had nonetheless been included as standard, the safety risk having been judged infinitely preferable to having reckless devicers tampering with the system. Britannic Arms knew its customers.

"I wanted to be as good as Cadet Enneagram, Princess," Alexander explained himself. "I know for a fact she had hers turned off."

"That she did," Cornelia admitted. "But she's good at what she does. It's a bit soon for you."

"It isn't even necessary," Guilford added. "You don't need to manage without it to become a knight."

"And I can ride a bicycle with training wheels, but I'd still feel a fool" Alexander retorted, eliciting a bark of laughter from Cornelia.

"Oh, for your wounded pride, Alexander Bismarck Waldstein." Seeing his irritation, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. Major Bruckner tells me that despite your age, you're still meeting the standard he expects of the rest of us. A little pride on your part could be forgiven." Alexander looked up, into her purple eyes, and felt his frustration drain away.

* * *

Hamid fought down his nerves, savouring the anticipation. The time had come. Tonight was the night.

He glanced behind him, at the others in the HGV with him. There were fifteen others, including William Poole, who was standing closest to him. They were the men he had chosen to accompany him on the mission. They stared back at him, clutching the military-issue assault rifles he had acquired for them via certain back-channels, eyes blazing with anticipation. He had spent the best part of a year training them in infantry and frame combat. It wasn't much, but he needed them at least somewhat competent.

"All right," he said, his voice low but easily audible. "This is it. Remember to stick to the plan, or you'll end up dead." He paused, letting that fact sink in. He cared little if any of them survived, but he didn't want them screwing up at this stage.

"I'll get the gate open," he went on, "and then we head for the knightmare hangar. Once we're in, we grab the knightmares, then follow me to the comm centre. If we wreck it quickly, it'll buy us enough time to trash the place and clear out. Remember, stay in your groups, remember where your HGV is and don't mess around. Got it!?" They nodded.

He sent two of them out first, counting down the seconds with a pounding heart. When the half-expected burst of gunfire never came, he climbed out himself. The night was dark, the only light coming from the academy buildings, themselves just beyond a fringe of trees. It was on a convenient side road within the forest that the HGV had pulled up, where it would wait for its intended cargo. There were three more stationed at different points outside the academy perimeter, spread out so as to minimize suspicion.

Hamid knew it wouldn't last. Someone was bound to notice something, and the Britannians would react quickly once the alarm sounded. He doubted if even two or three of the HGVs would escape, with or without full loads.

Not that it mattered. He only needed to get one knightmare out of there before the entire county was sealed off. The rest were a bonus, assuming they were on _his_ HGV. Any others FF could do with as they liked. That was assuming they even survived.

Not that it mattered.

It took ten minutes for them to pick their way through to the outer edge. There they crouched, as he had taught them, while Hamid scanned his more experienced eyes over the gatehouse. It was one of the small side gates, generally used by guards or staff. He could see the security camera on top.

He had investigated the security at Benedict Arnold as part of his preparations, and found it to be broadly adequate. There was a chain-link fence around the outer perimeter, with small gatehouses at various points. Cameras and motion sensors covered the entire fence, meaning that the only way in without being spotted was through one of the gatehouses. After that it was about a hundred metres to the Knightmare hangar, using the long route between other buildings. The direct route was over open ground, and they would almost certainly be seen.

Seeing his chance, Hamid sprung. He sprinted across the gap, heart pounding in his chest. He pressed himself against the gate, blood roaring in his ears, waiting for the howl of alarms, or the sound of gunfire.

Nothing came.

Forcing himself to calm down, Hamid pulled the keycard from his pocket. He couldn't be entirely sure it would work, but it was his only way in that didn't involve brute force. Time seemed to slow down as he slid the keycard into place. An eternity passed in a fraction of a second as the lock scanned the fake card.

A flurry of beeps, a green light, and a clunk. As he stepped through the gate, Hamid decided that he had been right not to dispose of the individual who had created the keycard for him.

He stood where he was, holding the door open while the others darted through. He watched with some satisfaction as they split into their groups, sidling along the walls, watching out for the cameras. He had trained them well, it seemed.

* * *

Cadet Jeremiah Gottwald was not in the best of moods.

There was only a month till graduation, and his troubles seemed to be making a concerted effort as the great event approached. Hoping to clear his mind and improve his scores at the same time, he had eaten early and headed over to the Hangar to put some extra time in on the simulators. Upon arriving, however, he had felt the call of nature, which caused him to be where he was, seated on a toilet, with little to do but think.

His time at Benedict Arnold Military Academy had not been pleasant, and in truth he had not expected it to be. It had been thoroughly improving, and necessary for his chosen path in life, but not at all pleasant.

Things had gotten worse over the past year, ever since that disgraceful panty raid. He hadn't taken part, but that in itself was the reason why. Only one of the raiders had been identified, having no excuse for being found duct-taped to the flagpole, amongst other things. The rest had decided that _he_ must be responsible for the failure of the raid, since only _he_ had not gone with them.

No doubt his week-long sojourn in the Infirmary gave them a degree of satisfaction. Not only that, but his rectitude had cost him what little credibility he had gained among them

Not that he cared much for it.

All of a sudden, quite without meaning to, he found himself thinking of his younger sister, Lilicia. Of all his siblings, she was the only one he actually got on well with. But even she had put it to him, when he returned home from Colchester for the last time.

_Did you make one single friend while you were there, brother Jeremiah?_

He didn't need their friendship, or even their acceptance. Not if he had to soil his hands with disgrace. His integrity was all that really mattered to him, and he wouldn't compromise it just to be popular.

He pulled up his trousers and stepped out of the cubicle. He had better things to do than feel sorry for himself. Fastidious as ever, he took a moment to wash his hands, switch off the tap…

He froze as he heard a most unusual sound. It was a series of whistles, very faint, coming from the corridor outside. He could not for the life of him think what they were.

The low thud that followed soon after was a little less mysterious, as were the running footsteps in the corridor.

Heart pounding, Jeremiah darted into the cubicle furthest from the door. Pressing his back against the wall, he lifted his feet and braced them against the partition. It was a trick he had learned at Colchester, one that had saved him from a great many ambushes. There he waited, sweat condensing on his brow, as he heard the door open and someone step inside.

Jeremiah clamped his mouth shut, hardly daring to breathe, dreading the drum-like beating of his heart, lest the killer hear it. Sweat pooled on his brow as he waited, for what seemed like forever.

He heard the footsteps leaving, the door shutting. Slowly, carefully, Jeremiah let himself down, creeping through the washroom to the door. He spent a tense minute with his ear pressed to the door, then slipped out into the corridor.

The corpse was lying just to his right. It had once been one of the security personnel, the smart blue uniform slowly turning red. Jeremiah now knew for certain what those strange sounds had been. This was not some prank, nor was it the other cadets trying to kill him. This was something far more serious.

Jeremiah hissed in irritation when he saw that the guard's earpiece had been taken, leaving him with no immediate means of summoning help.

He supposed he could run, but there was no telling how long it would take for him to find someone and convince them that this wasn't just some prank. The intentions of the intruders were quite plain, and he could not afford to wait.

Steeling himself, he slid the fallen guard's handgun from its holster, silently praising God that the intruders had not thought to take it. He crept down the corridor, half-expecting an armed intruder to appear at the other end. But luck was with him, and he made it to the entrance to the main hangar without incident. After taking a moment to check the gun, he peered around the door.

They were an arrogant lot, whoever they were. They swaggered around the hangar, staring up at the twenty _Glasgow_ Trainers lined in two rows of ten along the walls. They wore grey fatigues, but they didn't carry themselves like soldiers. Jeremiah could see assault rifles in their hands, and a part of him knew he stood little chance in a firefight.

His frustration mounted as he saw the cockpits slide open. The intruders began whooping and roaring as they darted up the steps set into the maintenance stands. Time had run out.

The closest intruder was only a few metres away. Jeremiah felt a strange calm wash over him as he aimed the handgun.

"I hope we're not too late for dinner," Alexander commented as they exited the simulator room. "I would hate to have caused trouble."

"There'll be no trouble," Cornelia reassured him. "Besides, you know the…" She trailed off, all three halting at the sound of gunshots. There they stood, momentarily transfixed, not believing.

Guilford darted back inside the simulator room and slammed his hand against the alarm button. Nothing happened. The three ran for the stairs, their feet clattering as they descended, and found themselves in the main corridor.

There, just beside the door to the hangar, lay a prone figure, slumped against the wall.

"Cadet Gottwald!" Cornelia yelled as they ran to him. It was indeed Jeremiah Gottwald, his left hand clenched over his right shoulder, blood dribbling between the fingers.

"Cadet…li Britannia…Princess," Gottwald spluttered. "Please hurry…they're taking the knightmares." Guilford rushed off along the corridor, while Alexander glanced around the door. There were indeed men climbing into the knightmares.

And one other man.

Alexander could just about see him, working furiously at the main control panel. He straightened up suddenly, and Alexander could see his long red hair and short beard. Behind each knightmare, armoured panels set into the walls slid open, revealing what appeared to be enormous assault rifles. The man turned from the panel, a look of dark satisfaction on his face, and raced up the steps to a nearby knightmare.

"Princess!" Alexander wailed. "They're taking the knightmares. And guns too!"

"The Assault Rifles," Cornelia hissed. "This is bad."

"Princess, please," Jeremiah spluttered, as Guilford returned carrying a military medkit. "You must stop them."

"But you're wounded," Guilford protested, opening the medkit. "Your lordship, please remain here with Cadet Gottwald."

"What!? No! I want to fight!" Alexander snapped back, horrified at the thought of being left out. "There are three knightmares left!"

"Your lordship, you're too young," Guilford insisted, speaking in the sort of tone generally used with fractious children.

"Princess!" Alexander turned desperately to his benefactor. "I want to fight by your side! It's the least I can do!"

"Please take him, Princess," Jeremiah pleaded. "Leave me the medkit, but you must all go."

"Gottwald…"

"_Please_ don't worry about me Princess!" Jeremiah wailed, desperation in his eyes. "You _must_ go now! Please go!"

Cornelia stared down at him. She didn't want to just leave him, wounded as he was. But if she did not act quickly, those intruders would have free rein. At that hour, most of the cadets would be in the dormitory blocks, hanging around the common areas or in their rooms, with no realistic means of defending themselves. The dorms would be turned into charnel houses.

"Guilford!" she snapped, her decision made. "Will he be all right!?"

"Yes, your Highness," Guilford replied, removing an empty syringe from Jeremiah's arm. He had already covered the wound with a sealant dressing. Fortunately there was no exit wound, or Jeremiah would already have bled to death.

"Quickly then!" As Guilford and Alexander dashed past her, she gave Jeremiah one last glance, then hurried to one of the remaining knightmares.

* * *

Hamid felt the familiar thrill as he drove his new _Glasgow _through the academy grounds. This new frame was only an early model, but such _response_, such_ power._

He coasted along at half-speed, getting a feel for the controls, for the movements. At full speed he would have reached the comm-centre already, but at the cost of half his followers crashing their knightmares. He needed as many of them active as possible if his plan was to work.

If he had to give a review, he would say that the _Glasgow_ was technically inferior to the _Ganymede_. On the other hand, the improved auto-control system made it far easier to pilot. The _Ganymede_ was an excellent machine, but it needed someone like Marianne the Flash to get the most out of it. The _Glasgow_ was much more accessible, to the point where even his half-trained patsies could make it work. Watching them, he wondered if his advice to the Freedom's Flame leadership had been premature. Perhaps they _could_ be a worthwhile guerrilla weapon after all.

Hamid had only been in the knightmare for a few minutes, but the knowledge he had already gained was worth the first half of his fee. Even if he was unable to get the _Glasgow_ out of Britannia, the data currently downloading onto the enhanced datastick EUROSEC had given him would more than cover the second half.

As he rounded a corner, he saw the comm centre in front of him. It was a low-slung, functional sort of building, easily identified by the tall mast reaching up from the roof.

Hamid grinned as he ran his thumbs over the rollerballs, levelling the Assault Rifle in both hands. He pressed the right rollerball, 30mm rounds pouring into the mast. He felt a slight judder as the gun roared, and saw the bullets splattering around the reticule.

"_Calibration needs work,_" he thought, even as the mast sparked and fizzed. "_Shock absorption could be better._" He put his clinical thoughts aside as he heard the cheers and whoops coming over the comm. Little wonder they were so enthusiastic, for the mission had gone without a hitch. Warning sirens were already howling.

"All right!" he yelled, putting as much conviction in his tone as he could manage. "They won't be calling for help from here! Let'em have it!" More screeches and whoops as the knightmares raced away, their pilots eager to spill the blood of the Emperor's willing slaves. They had all memorized the positions of the cadet dormitories on the academy map, set either side of a wide square. On the screen, he saw some of them head into the square, while others raced off along the streets on missions of their own.

Hamid's thin mouth split into a Cheshire-cat grin. He had really convinced them. He had made them believe that knocking out the comm centre would be enough, that the land-line phones had been removed during the renovations last year. They _completely_ believed that he would lead them to glory and an ungodly amount of money.

Only that snob Herbert Tower had resisted his charms in the end. He had been a threat, for as a senior member of FF, he became a focus for those who did not trust the bearded newcomer, but would otherwise go along with those who did.

Hamid had seen to his removal, in a suitably untraceable way. Tower had bled out his life on a duelling field, care of a certain professional gentleman of many names, with a knack for making people angry in public places.

"_Only in Britannia_," Hamid thought, as he prepared to leave his erstwhile followers to their fate. He doubted they would even notice he had gone.

His triumph was disturbed by an urgent beeping from his IFF display. He looked, and saw to his surprise that four of the sixteen knightmares had suddenly gone down. He paused, bewildered, unable to make sense of it.

Then it hit him. His knightmare currently thought it was a Britannian knightmare, and that the other stolen knightmares were its comrades. If whoever it was had switched their IFF transponders off, then…

"Switch to your scanners!" he roared into the comm. He hissed in irritation at the panic-stricken babble over the comm, though he knew he could expect little better. He hadn't trained them to win. He'd trained them to die for his purpose.

"Three of them!" someone shouted back. "They're…" The voice was replaced with a crackle of static. At that moment, one of the icons turned to LOST. By now, half of them were down.

"Stay with your groups!" he roared, as his knightmare entered the square. "Get in formation and watch your backs!"

"Coming this way!" came another voice. "I can't…!"  
"Outta ammo! Outta…!" Two more LOST icons.

Only two?

Then he saw them. Two of them moving as a pair. They piloted them same knightmares, with the same paint jobs, but there was a grace and confidence to their movements that set them apart from his followers. They poured 30mm rounds into the stolen knightmares, dropping one after the other.

Hamid hissed. He had expected, nay _intended_ for his patsies to die, but this was too fast. But he had no time to kick himself for not trashing the three remaining knightmares. Best instead to act, and he knew what to do.

His opportunity soon presented itself, as he saw one of the pair break off and head his way. It was a strange sensation to be noticed in combat, to gain an enemy's full attention, to know that someone had him in their sights. It sent a shiver down his spine.

He moved, a slight touch on the foot pedals moving him on an intercept course. The other knightmare lowered its Rifle, a Stun Tonfa extending from its free arm. Hamid held his breath, waiting as they got closer and closer, waiting for his opponent to strike.

He saw the arm move, Stun Tonfa aimed for his torso. He pressed the foot pedals in and outward, spreading his knightmare's legs and dropping down, the Stun Tonfa flashing past. Hamid brought up his Rifle, but the enemy lashed out, knocking it away as he fired. He reversed away, breaking to the left as his opponent fired. He returned fire, hissing in triumph as his shots tore into his opponent's Rifle. His opponent tossed it away, activating the other Stun Tonfa. It was the opening he needed.

A press of the pedals brought his knightmare forward, his Stun Tonfa catching his opponent in the torso and knocking it backwards. He saw the enemy knightmare slam into the wall behind it. In his rear view mirror, he saw the other enemy knightmare turn towards him, only to be set upon by three of his followers. Now was his chance…

It was his chance, but for a twinge of instinct. It saved his life.

He pressed down on the right pedal, spinning his knightmare round as another _Glasgow _went past at speed. It turned in a tight arc to face him, and Hamid knew it must be the third enemy. This one wasn't bad either.

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, Hamid pressed the pedals back, racing away along the main street. He glanced at the rear-view monitor, and saw the other knightmare pursuing him, raising its Assault Rifle to fire. Hamid jinked, nipping from side to side, bursts of flame flashing past. He could hear the others over the comm.

"…behind…!"  
"…coming up from…"

"GIVE ME LIBERTY OR GIVE ME…!"

Hamid ignored them. Their fate was none of his concern. His concern was the rather persistent fellow behind him.

He rounded a corner into a wide square, his pursuer close behind. He turned in a wide arc around the edges of the square, bringing up his Assault Rifle as the other _Glasgow_ emerged. The gun roared, but the other was ready, returning fire as he came. Hamid was forced to change direction to avoid being hit, his shots flying wide, disfiguring the elegant stone frontages.

"_This one's different_" he thought, as he continued his evasive action. He noted the grace of the enemy knightmare's movements, and the short sharp bursts of fire. This one hadn't wasted his ammunition the way those other idiots had. And if his IFF screen was anything to go by, it was getting them killed in short order.

He felt a twinge in the pit of his stomach. Time was rolling on, and he would have to clear out soon. He could not afford to let this battle delay him.

He fired one last time, missed, then headed off down another street, the enemy still in hot pursuit.

"_Persistent little_..."

Nonetheless, he had a plan.

* * *

Alexander gave a snarl of frustration as the intruder dodged again. He had fired off most of his clip, and no others had been available. The ammunition supply had been intended for live-fire training, not combat. Even so he would not break off. He would not allow the one who attacked his Princess to get away.

"Alexander!" Cornelia called over the comm. "What's your situation!?"

"Princess! This one's good!" he called back, firing off another quick burst. "I can't get a hit!"

"Stay on him!" Cornelia replied. "The dorms are secure! We'll come as soon as we've dealt with the others!"

"Yes, your Highness!" Alexander felt relieved that the dormitories had been saved. He did not want to think about what might have happened had they not arrived sooner.

He squeezed off another burst, hissed through gritted teeth as the enemy dodged again. The gap was barely wide enough, yet the knightmare in front of him seemed to bend like a fir tree in the wind. Here was a devicer of unusual skill.

All at once they moved out of the gap and onto open ground, the enemy heading straight for the perimeter fence. Alexander did not for one moment believe that it would even slow the stolen knightmare, especially at that speed. Realising that this was his last chance, he levelled the Assault Rifle to fire.

Nothing. Alexander glanced at the display, and saw that the ammunition had run out.

But instead of running, as he had expected, the enemy dropped low, legs spread out wide, coming around in a tight arc. _It was turning to face him. _

Alexander's left hand flew over the interface. His knightmare's hand opened, dropping the now useless Assault Rifle, the Stun Tonfas on the wrists unfolding and snapping into place. A fierce exultation replaced his frustration as he saw the other knightmare do likewise. _They would fight._

The enemy came at him, Stun Tonfa crackling. Alexander pressed down the pedals, his _Glasgow_ boiling forward. The enemy raised its arm for an overhead strike. Alexander hauled on his right joystick, bringing the arm up to block. As he did, he thrust with the left, trying to catch the enemy in the torso. But the enemy spun around and away, his Stun Tonfa striking empty air. The enemy thrust at his exposed left, forcing him to press on the pedals and back away. Trapped on the defensive, he blocked, blocked again. He tried to turn, but the enemy stayed on him, thrusting and swatting again and again.

Desperate, Alexander forced his knightmare forward, body-slamming the enemy backwards. He pressed the pedals back, slowing his knightmare long enough for create a gap, then attacked, both Stun Tonfa aimed straight for the torso.

The enemy dropped and bent over backwards. Alexander let out a cry of surprise as both of his Stun Tonfa passed harmlessly over the enemy's head. He felt a momentary surge of frustration when he saw that the enemy had done the splits.

He jammed his feet onto the pedals, as if sheer will could force his knightmare backwards. It began to reverse, but too late, as his enemy brought one Stun Tonfa up into the underside of his protruding cockpit. It didn't connect fully, but the shock threw him against the headrest, warning buzzers screeching. The legs wobbled and concertinaed as he reversed, and it was all he could do to avoid falling down. For a moment he regretted turning off the auto-control.

Finally he stabilized, only to see the enemy coming at him again. He wrenched the joysticks, trying to bring up the arms. But they were jerky, the systems fritzed. In an instant the enemy was upon him, and with one blow smashed him to the ground. Alexander yelled as the force flung him about, his body straining against the crash webbing.

All was still. All was dim red light, informing him that he was defeated. He could not even use the ejector, not lain flat as he was.

Alexander looked up at the sound of wrenching metal. The top of the cockpit buckled, then he saw massive fingers. With a metallic screech the roof came away, and Alexander could see the starry night far above.

The stolen _Glasgow _loomed over him, the lights on its head shining like malevolent eyes. It paused, as if wanting to get a good look. Alexander supposed he should feel afraid, but instead he felt only a strange resignation. He was about to die, and there was nothing he could do. He no longer had the energy to be afraid.

It felt as though time was slowing down. Alexander began to feel impatient. He wanted to call out to the intruder, to demand that he end this torment and finish him.

What was taking him so long?

And then he was gone.

Alexander sat where he was, not believing, not understanding. He felt suddenly cold.

"Alexander!" Now two more _Glasgow_s loomed over him, one of them calling in the voice of his Princess. "Alexander! Are you all right!?"

"Princess," he managed to say, as he shivered. "Princess…I've let you down."

"No Alexander," came Cornelia's voice. "No you didn't."

* * *

Hamid could not think. He could not reason. He could only keep going, to get _away_.

He had been about to finish the enemy pilot. His blood was up, his mission forgotten. He had torn the fallen knightmare's cockpit open, and had seen the one inside.

He had never believed such a thing could happen to him. But it did.

All his bloodlust drained out of him. His own mind betrayed him, taking him from that place and time, to somewhere he had for so long tried to forget.

_Stubby legs wobbled, tiny arms outstretched. Bright gold eyes, wide as plates. _

"_Hamee! Hamee!" _

He was shaking, sweat dripping off his brow, though inside he was as cold as the desert at night. His feet were pressed hard down, trees whipping past as his knightmare raced on through the forest. His ears were filled with incoherent screams that seemed to come from inside his own head. Was he going mad? How could that _boy_ have such an effect on him?

It was only a moment later, as the madness began to fade, that he realised that the screaming voice was his own.

He fell back on his old methods. He controlled his breathing, letting the breaths in and out with measured care. He felt his metabolism slow, his troubled mind calming. He glanced at the display. Thankfully he had managed not to go too far off his intended course. The HGV he intended to use was just up ahead. He needed that particular HGV, because of the two men inside it. Two men from EUROSEC, who would help him escape with his prize.

As he passed through the trees and into open ground, he saw it clearly. It stood right next to the tree line, lights off, rear hatch lowered. Forcing his addled mind into action, he turned his knightmare towards the open rear, pressing back the pedals to slow down. Concentrating hard, he drove the knightmare up the ramp, squatting to slide neatly inside, clunking to a halt. An instant later he felt another clunk, and saw another knightmare slide up behind him. The rear hatch lifted into place, and he heard the engine start up. The air felt thick inside the cockpit, forcing him to climb out and lower himself down on the cable.

"Hell of a night, eh Ali!?"

Of all them, of all that band of deluded fools, it just had to be _him_ who survived. Hamid felt a surge of cleansing anger as he heard the voice of William Poole, descending from his cockpit.

"Looks like we were the only ones who made it out," Poole went on cheerfully. "Too bad we didn't get to shoot up the dorms!"

"You're just a sick twisted fuck, aren't you." The coldness in Hamid's tone actually made Poole pause. Hamid looked up at him, his anguish and shame fading away, cold fury taking their place. "You're not good for _anything_, except killing people, are you."

"Yeah, so?" That momentary look of confusion disappeared, the boyish face returning to its usual faux-innocence. "Aren't you the same!?"

Hamid did not speak. His fist was his reply, ramming into Poole's stomach and pitching him to the floor. As Poole lay there, too dazed to react, Hamid whipped his new handgun from its holster. It was one of the new coilguns, the single shot tearing into Poole's right wrist and blasting it clean off in a shower of blood. Poole _screamed, _eyes bulging as agony overwhelmed his brain. He stared up at Hamid, the man he knew as Ali Al-Saachez, the man he had admired. Hamid saw the confusion and betrayal in his eyes, savouring it like well-brewed coffee.

"It's because of people like you that I am what I am," he said, his calm tone belying what lay within. "I lost everything that ever mattered to me, everything that ever made me human, to people like you."

"But…"

"But…that doesn't matter, does it?" Hamid went on. "It doesn't matter whether they're involved or not. What matters is the cause. What matters is making the guy suffer for getting in your way. After all, those who stand in the way of the cause deserve everything that happens to them. Isn't that your way…_Willy_?"

"You…"

"I'd like to thank your friends for their services tonight," Hamid's face twisted into a sneer. "I'm sure EUROFORCE will want to thank them too, when they see this delightful machine." He aimed the gun straight between Poole's eyes, drawing out the moment, rage and pain driving him to the depths of sadism.

"Give my regards to _Shaitan_." One shot, and that was that.

Hamid put his gun away, and pressed the button for the side door. It was the work of a moment to heave Poole's corpse over to the door and drop it out. The severed hand followed after it. _That_ would keep the cops occupied.

As the door sealed shut again, drowning the sound of the engine, Hamid slumped against the wall, exhausted.

There was little satisfaction, now that it was done. He had _needed_ to do it. He had _needed_ to hurt Poole, to make him suffer before destroying him. He had _needed_ to be a sadist, or he didn't know where his thoughts would have taken him.

It had shaken him up, that was for sure. He had never expected the sight of a young boy to have such an effect, even with eyes like those. Was it the remnants of a conscience? Had the sight of a child in the cockpit reawakened something of his old self?

No.

His family was gone. His home was gone, burnt to the ground years ago, with all the happy memories it contained. There could be no going back.

The pain faded, replaced by the dull nothingness he was accustomed to. He glanced up at the two _Glasgow_s, the objects of all his efforts. There was nothing more he could do for now. It was in the hands of his two EUROSEC colleagues up front. If they could just get him to the rendezvous point, then they would all make it out alive.

Hamid straightened up, and headed for the door to the front compartment. He had smelt enough blood for one night.

_**

* * *

**_

_**Benedict Arnold Military Academy, April 2009 ATB. **_

To look at it, one would hardly think there had been a major incident.

Then again, it had been two months since the ill-fated terrorist attack on the academy. Two months to repair the damage, replace the wrecked knightmares, and bury the mercifully small number of dead. Two months to erect the podium and the stands, to deck the walls and windows with bunting. The terrorists had been identified as members of a violent dissident group, and the attack had been followed by many arrests. Of the twenty knightmares involved, only two were unaccounted-for, having apparently been spirited out of the country. That fiasco had been kept from the public, but had nonetheless led to some serious policy changes.

But today, such things were far from anyone's mind. It was not a day to dwell on failure and embarrassment, but on triumph and success. For it was Graduation Day.

Alexander had never seen anything quite like it. The best part was that he could watch the proceedings from the most prestigious position, right next to the podium on which the Imperial Family's representatives sat. Even better, he was able to watch with his father.

It had caused great excitement among the cadets. Though the Emperor himself had not seen fit to attend, and Alexander had learned that he rarely attended such events, few had taken offence. They were excited, not just because the Knight of One was attending, but because of who was attending in the Emperor's stead.

Lady Marianne looked magnificent. She stood upon the podium, tall and erect, clad in the uniform and cloak of a Knight of the Empire, her long black hair hanging loose. Just behind her stood several of the older Princes and Princesses. Alexander recognised Crown Prince Odysseus and Second Prince Schneizel among them, both smiling in a suitably gracious fashion. Also present was Commandant Rozen, along with the most senior instructors.

It was time for the main event, the climax of the proceedings. Before the podium and stands stood the graduates, clad in their dress uniforms. Cornelia stood in front, along with four others, the top-ranking cadets. Of them, Alexander recognised only Gilbert Guilford. Directly behind, in the centre of the line were those cadets chosen for the Imperial Guard, this honour symbolized by white sashes, received the night before. Alexander could see Jeremiah Gottwald among them, and remembered the look on his face as he had received his sash. It had been his gallantry during the raid that had clinched him the honour.

Alexander watched, entranced, as Marianne began her speech, her ornate earpiece transmitting her voice to the loudspeakers.

"Cadets," she began, scanning her eyes over them. "Worthy cadets. You have been weighed, measured, tested, and trialled. Here you stand, your worthiness proven, beyond any doubt or slander. It is with pride, and honour, that I stand before you today. It is with joy that I acknowledge you, that I bestow your rank upon you. This you may carry with you, all the days of your life, the sign of your success. Go forth, cadets no longer, to serve in the ways of honour, and of justice, and of loyalty." As she fell silent, it was Commandant Rozen's turn to speak.

"Long live his Majesty the Emperor!" he roared. "Long live her Majesty the Empress! All hail Britannia!" As one, the cadets gave their reply.

"LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR! LONG LIVE THE EMPRESS! ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!" The noise rolled over the stands like a wave. Alexander could not stop the words from leaping from his own throat, so caught up was he in it.

"There is but one more matter," Marianne spoke up, once the roar had died down. "If it pleases the Commandant," she turned to acknowledge Rozen, who bowed his head. Alexander wondered what was about to happen.

"Cornelia li Britannia, step forward." There were mutterings in the stands as Cornelia parade-marched forward to stand before the podium. Marianne looked down upon her, pride in her eyes.

"We have heard of your recent gallantry," Marianne said. "We have heard, in a message sent to us by your sometime brother and sister cadets, now your brother and sister officers. In acknowledgement of the esteem in which they hold you, it is my honour and joy to present this token." With that, three white-uniformed Imperial Guardsmen goose-stepped around the podium to stand before Cornelia. The one in the middle was holding a long and narrow box of polished wood. Alexander craned his neck to see what it contained. He wasn't the only one. After a moment's stunned pause, Cornelia lifted the object from the box, raising it high for all to see.

It was a sword, brand new, gleaming like silver in the sunlight. As Alexander got a closer look, he saw that it was not merely a sword, but a _gunblade_. He could see the elegant mechanism set into the hilt, the barrel set into the blade itself. It was said that maybe a half-dozen masters in all the Empire could make one.

"Your Imperial Majesty!" Cornelia called back, raising her new gunblade to her face in salute. "It is a most worthy token, more so than I deserve. I shall bear it for all my days, with honour and gratitude!"

"Three cheers for her Imperial Highness, Princess Cornelia!" called one of the cadets. As one, the cadets snatched off their hats, thrusting them into the air with each hurrah. Alexander half-expected the Commandant to chide them, but he didn't. He actually seemed pleased.

"If it pleases your Imperial Majesty," Cornelia called again, positively glowing with pride. "There is one other I would honour, before this audience, for his part in these events."

"By what name is he known?"

"Gilbert G.P. Guilford." Cornelia paused. The mutterings in the audience got even louder. Alexander wasn't sure, but he could have sworn that Marianne's eyebrow went up _just slightly_.

"Let him step forward, and kneel." Alexander watched as Guilford parade-marched forward, much as Cornelia had done only moments before. He halted as Cornelia spun on her heel to face him, her gunblade sweeping out to the side. He dropped to one knee.

"Gilbert G.P. Guilford," she intoned. "Wilt thou upon this day pledge thy fealty to Britannia, and stand as a Knight of the Crown?"

"Yes, your Highness."

"Dost thou wish to abandon thyself, and be sword and shield for the sake of justice?"

"Yes, your Highness."

With a flourish, Cornelia raised her gunblade high.

"I dub you, _Sir_ Gilbert, Knight of the Empire, once," she touched the blade to his shoulder, "twice," then to the other, "and three times." She lowered her sword, and took a step back. He got to his feet, and the audience burst into thunderous applause. Alexander could not stop clapping. He had accepted, with a little disappointment, that he would receive no overt recognition for his part. But he could not feel bitter. Not there, and not then. He felt his spirit soar.

And he knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, what his chosen path would be.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_**Aries Villa, St Darwin Boulevard, Pendragon, May 2009 ATB**_

Alexander felt very warm inside.

He always felt this way in the presence of Marianne vi Britannia. To Alexander Bismarck Waldstein, she was nothing less than a vision. A vision of elegance, beauty, warmth, and kindness. She did not seem to belong in the world, crude and ugly as it was in comparison.

But she was not some distant goddess. She was right next to him. As they walked together along the gallery of Aries Villa, he could feel her presence near him even if he wasn't actually looking at her. A scent of rosemary floated in from the gardens. It was a beautiful day.

"I'm so sorry I had to inflict that on you Alexander," Marianne said, her tone sincere.

"I'm happy to be of help, my Lady Marianne." And he was. Even if it meant taking tea with her and two rather important visitors, for several hours. The two visitors in this case being Lord and Lady Alstreim, the purpose of their visit being to deposit their daughter Anya with the Empress. As much as he adored her, Alexander could not shake the sense of having utterly wasted several hours of his life.

"No need for that, Alexander," Marianne beamed. "I know for a fact you were bored rigid. But they both wanted to see you, and I wouldn't have liked to have to deal with them alone."

"It's…it's my pleasure, my Lady Marianne." Indeed, she would have been alone had he not been there. Lelouch and Nunnally had been tasked with showing Anya around, probably because they were doing an even worse job of concealing their boredom than he was.

"Even so, I'm proud of you. You carried yourself like a young gentleman. I know for a fact they were impressed." Alexander felt himself blushing.

"I…didn't really say anything special."

"Special for a twelve-year-old boy," Marianne put a gloved hand on his head. "There aren't many who can explain the differences between a _Ganymede_ and a _Ganymede ALI_ after all."

The main topic of conversation had been the state of the Ashford Foundation, a research and development organisation owned and run by the Ashford family. The Ashfords were one of the three wealthiest and most powerful noble families in Britannia, along with the Bruckners and the Rozens. The Foundation had been instrumental in the development of knightmare frames, in the face of widespread derision and mistrust of the very idea of bipedal war machines. The collapse of the former Federal Republic of Krugis had allowed the Foundation to steal yet another march on its rivals, for they had been permitted to supply Central Krugis with _Ganymede_ knightmares. This not only furnished the Foundation with a fine profit, but a wealth of useful data. In truth, the one thing slowing the Ashford Foundation's ascent was the style of the family Patriarch. Reuben Ashford, Seventh Earl Ashford, was notorious for extravagant parties and an unpredictable style.

Marianne's interest in the Foundation had surprised Alexander, until he learnt from Cornelia that Reuben Ashford had been her patron in the past, when she worked for the Foundation as a test pilot. She had proven the _Ganymede_'s worth, putting it successfully through a series of blatantly rigged trials, her success catching the then-Emperor's eye and earning her a place at the Round Table. The rest was history.

"I wanted to help," Alexander managed to say, "because you've always been so kind to me, Lady Marianne."

"That's because I want to." All of a sudden, she bent down and kissed him on the forehead. "And I'd like it if you would call me _mother_ from now on."

"La…mother…" Alexander didn't know what to think or say. He only knew that he had never been happier. He also knew what he had known the moment he returned from the Academy. He knew that he loved her.

The sound of hurrying footsteps drew their attention, and around the corner came Lelouch and Nunnally at a jog, an amused-looking Cornelia striding along behind them. She wore the white jacket of an officer in the Imperial Guard, for she had upon her return been named Captain of the Guards at Aries Villa, a post in which she took no small amount of pride. Alexander bowed as they approached, hoping they wouldn't notice his blushing.

"We can't find her anywhere!" Lelouch wheezed, puffing and blowing.

"Can't find her?" Marianne asked, mildly amused.

"We're playing Hide-and-Seek!" Nunnally proclaimed. Alexander noted that while her brother was blown, she was entirely fresh. "But Anya's too good!"

"Don't worry, Alexander will help!" Marianne's smile widened. "Run along now. Cornelia and I have something to discuss."

Alexander hurried off with his Prince and his Princess, his heart still glowing inside.

They spent about ten minutes searching the gardens, only to come up empty. They met up by the fountain in the middle.

"I hope Gabriella hasn't captured her," Nunnally commented. "She wouldn't have a nice time."

"She hasn't changed, your Highness?" Alexander asked.

"Changed!" Lelouch exclaimed. "Just the other day she tried to steal Nunnally's new doll!"

"It's just like the one Euphie has," Nunnally added. "But then mother came and scared them!"

"Scared them, your Highness?" Alexander was intrigued.

"She came in her _Ganymede_!" Lelouch said proudly. "She literally drove it into the garden. If you saw the looks on their faces!"

"That's why we have to find Anya," Nunnally insisted. "She might want revenge."

"All right," Lelouch took charge. "Nunnally and I will check the east side, Alexander, will you check the west?"

"Yes, your Highness." As the siblings went off on their way, Alexander headed off on his assigned task. He took time as he went to check the plantings by the paths, but could find no sign of the little girl.

He was starting to wonder just how long this was going to take when he rounded a corner and saw Cornelia standing there, looking a little disgruntled.

"Princess?" he asked, hurrying up to her. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, Alexander." Cornelia looked momentarily flustered, as though her thoughts had been elsewhere. It was most unlike her, or so Alexander thought.

"Princess, you seemed distracted."

"Yes, I was." Cornelia's countenance darkened slightly. "Lady Marianne gave me an order, and a strange one."

"What was it?"

"She ordered me to dismiss the guards and delay the replacements." Alexander's brow furrowed as he thought this through, then looked around and saw that there were indeed no guards present. He felt slightly foolish for not having noticed, for they should have been changing at around that time. He checked his watch. 12:19.

"Isn't that dangerous, Princess?"

"Not really," Cornelia said, her mood seeming to lighten. "There hasn't been an actual killing in years. But I'd prefer not to tempt fate."

Alexander was inclined to agree. He knew that St Darwin Boulevard was a hive of treachery and backbiting, but he had never heard of anyone being killed. What was more, he knew of no one willing, or for that matter _able_, to harm Lady Marianne. Nonetheless, a part of Alexander wanted to hurry straight to her side.

"Have you had any luck finding little Anya?"

"I'm afraid not, Princess," Alexander admitted, some of the tension easing. "She's very small, and very good at hiding. We've…"

A sudden noise tore through the tranquillity of the gardens. Both of them knew the sound, the harsh staccato chatter, like fast-beating drums. Both of them felt their hearts turn to ice.

"Call out the Guard!" Cornelia shrieked into her comm-earpiece. "Seal all exits!"

Then they were running. Along beside the wall of the west wing, heading for the main entrance hall. Alexander was smaller and younger than Cornelia, but he kept up. Though his lungs burned and his legs ached, he would not stop.

Round the corner, through a side door, and into the main atrium, where the grand staircase was located. Alexander was a few metres behind Cornelia, and saw her come to a sudden halt. He ran on, broken glass crunching under his booted feet.

"No!" she screamed, throwing out an arm to stop him. "Don't look!" But it was too late.

Marianne lay sprawled across the bottom of the staircase. Her face was ashen, and her eyes glazed over. A dozen ragged black holes disfigured her form, each bordered in crimson, bright against her orange gown. Blood dripped from underneath her, pooling on the golden carpet and staining it.

And in her arms was Nunnally, her green dress turning red. She twitched and shivered, eyes staring blindly, lost in the horror.

It seemed so unreal, like it was just a bad dream. Alexander half expected to snap awake, in his warm bed upstairs, to shiver awhile, then laugh at himself. But he didn't awaken. This was not just a dream.

She was gone. He had loved her, and she was gone. She had asked him to call her mother, and she was gone. Just like that.

An intake of breath drew his attention. He looked up the stairs, past the bloodied bodies of two footmen, to see Lelouch standing near the top of the stairs, half-turned as if calling down to them, his face a grotesque of terror.

Lelouch clutched his head, and _screamed._

_**

* * *

**__**Otterburn Firing Range, Great Britain, EU, September 2009 ATB**_

Cadet Neil Dylandy, EUROFORCE Paladin Corps, did his best to stay calm.

He should have been accustomed to this by now. It was not the first training exercise he had ever engaged in. The six months he had spent in Basic should have inured him to the nervousness.

Then again, he had never expected to have to do it while piloting a prototype knightmare frame.

He had joined EUROFORCE on the day after his sixteenth birthday, the youngest possible age, in the hope of being a sniper. He had fully expected to become one too. It had been his first choice, and his final evaluation scores were more than good enough. All his instructors agreed that he had the right qualities, and so did his fellow cadets. They had nicknamed him _Lockon_ because of it.

But there was something in his scores that had attracted attention from elsewhere. Someone decided that he had just the right qualities to be a knightmare pilot. That had been a month ago. His disappointment had faded after a few hours in the simulators, and when he discovered that his talents were highly applicable, he had grown positively enthusiastic.

It was this fact that caused him, only a month into his two-year training course, to be selected for a weapons test. A most important weapons test, and one his instructor, Paladin Patrick Colasour, reckoned would interest him.

So there he was, piloting a knightmare equipped with an experimental gauss rifle, somewhere on the British army's Otterburn firing range. Covering well over a hundred square kilometres, it included varied terrain and numerous fake buildings, making it ideal for the test's purposes. The Paladin Corps wanted to prove not only the efficacy of knightmares, but the usefulness of its prototype EK-2P gauss rifle. The credibility of the Paladin Corps was riding on this test.

So no pressure then.

He had spent the past hour applying what he knew of sniper tactics to knightmare combat. He would take up a position, making best use of cover to conceal and protect himself, have a look round, then move on. He knew there were remote-controlled drone knightmares out there, equipped with the same weapon and on the lookout for him. The fact that he had not yet been hit suggested that his methods were working.

Neil eased his feet up, letting the pedals return to their usual position, the E1-A1 _Panzer-Hummel _sliding to a halt. He keyed for passive scanning. The twin heads swivelled left and right, seeking any inkling of a threat. With his Factsphere in passive mode and his Comm inactive, there was little risk of passive detection. The drones would have to actively scan for him, thus giving themselves away, or else spot him the old-fashioned way.

With his Factsphere sniffing for electronic emissions, Neil could keep an eye out. This he did, swivelling the _Panzer-Hummel_ with slight twitches of his joysticks, scanning the main camera left and right. The rolling green hills scrolled across his screen, threatening to calm his ragged nerves and draw his focussed mind away from its task.

Nothing.

Seconds turned into minutes. Neil breathed in and out, calming himself, as he had been trained to do. He knew that if he allowed his growing impatience to rule him, he would make mistakes. He didn't know for certain who was piloting the drones, what their skill level was, their preferences, their tendencies. Were they acting as a team? Laying a trap for him? Or had he evaded them too well for that?

Neil was only a Junior Cadet, but he knew that using an active scan, except at the very last minute, was a beginner's mistake. The instructors controlling the drones had no more experience of actual knightmare combat than he did, but that did not make them fools. They would not make stupid mistakes.

A flicker of movement in the right hand corner of his screen caught his attention. He forced himself not to leap after it. Instead he continued to scan left and right, waiting a few moments. With a slight press on the pedals, he moved his knightmare to the right, rolling gently along.

He already knew where he was going. He had picked the best sniper points before the exercise. The next one was right in front of him, a cluster of faux-debris next to a small rise on which a blockhouse was located. He did not intend to use the rise, though the blockhouse would have been good cover. It was too obvious.

As he entered the cluster, he saw it clearly. A movement, maybe three kilometres away. He zoomed in the camera. Another _Panzer-Hummel,_ green and blocky, rolling slowly between the skeletal buildings. It was side-on to him, the twin heads scanning ahead. It did not appear to have seen him.

Resisting the urge to attack, Neil manoeuvred his knightmare into the cluster. Taking up position, he twiddled the joysticks with practiced skill, levelling the rifle. He felt sweat on his brow as the glowing reticule drifted across the screen in pursuit of the enemy knightmare. He thought of using the laser designator, but stopped himself. To use it was to risk giving himself away.

Besides, he didn't need it.

The enemy halted. The reticule drifted over it. Neil let go of himself.

* * *

An electronic chiming filled the chamber. On the overhead monitor, one of the icons suddenly turned from green to red. Below the monitor was the main floor of the chamber, on which was located a holographic tactical map, surrounded by officers and techs. Along the front wall of the chamber, directly below the monitor, were located a line of knightmare simulators.

"Hit confirmed," said a voice on the speakers. "One kill to Cadet Dylandy." One of the simulators hissed open, its occupant clambering out to make his report. Applause reverberated through the audience gallery, which was above and behind the main floor.

"It seems like the new system is a success," commented Lieutenant Lisa Kujo, aged 24, to her companion.

"It seems that way," replied Captain Kati Mannequin, aged 29, not turning from the monitor. "I wonder if the Umpires will concur."

"I don't see how they couldn't," Lisa mused. "Then again, it never stopped them before."

Indeed it had not, and Kati knew it. There were plenty of flag-rank officers in the State armies who found the idea of walking war machines ludicrous, and would do just about anything to see the knightmare concept fail. The unhappy irony was that they saw it as their duty to do so, and up to a point they were right. Kati Mannequin had been around enough officers to know that they were a distinctly conservative bunch, sticking to what they knew and understood. New-fangled weapons like knightmares invariably had a rough time, at least until they were proven.

Looking at it objectively, Kati knew that this test was crucial. Britannia was already making bold strides in the development and use of knightmares, having bypassed their own stick-in-the-muds by Imperial Fiat. But EU policy was not made on whims, and so the right people would have to be convinced if they were not to fall behind.

Kati Mannequin understood this well. She and Lisa were both Tactical Coordinators, graduates of EUROFORCE's Strategos programme. A year of demanding training, on top of what they had already endured as officer candidates, had turned them into mistresses of strategy and tactics. They could read a situation as it unfolded and calculate the best response. They could plan campaigns from beginning to end, down to the smallest detail. They could understand the capabilities of any given unit or weapon, and put it to its best use.

Despite their shared background, they were quite different. Lisa Kujo had chocolate-brown hair, which she generally wore down, and an air of good-natured confidence. Kati Mannequin, by contrast, kept her darker her tied back at her neck. When combined with her generally severe aspect, she gave the impression of a nineteenth-century schoolmistress. It was an image she did not much mind, for if she had to get men to listen to her by intimidation, then so be it.

"They picked such a young pilot," Lisa commented. Indeed, the face of the test pilot was visible on the monitor, along with constant readouts of his heart rate, breathing, and other physical data. No doubt the evaluators were hoping to find some medical pretext for shelving the project.

"This isn't really the time, _Sumeragi_." Kati could resist neither the jibe nor a chance to use her younger friend's other name.

"I was thinking of you, _Kati._" Lisa shot her a smile. "Won't you give him a chance?" For the sake of argument, Kati examined the pilot's face. He had chocolate-brown hair, green eyes, and a look of youthful vulnerability about him, no doubt due to the strain of his current situation.

"He seems more your type, Sumeragi."

"Excuse me, _ladies_" an oily voice interceded. "Is this seat taken?" Kati looked up to see a tall man with long red hair and a short beard. His lips were curved in a sly grin, his eyes were green and vaguely feline, his face narrow and tapering, giving him an air of devilish glee. He wore an expensive-looking black suit with a lavender tie.

"Not at all." Kati gestured to the empty seat, and the diabolic gentleman took it with practiced grace.

"I do hope I haven't missed too much," the man oiled some more. Kati cursed. She was sure she was sending out all the _don't talk to me_ signals.

"Not much," she replied, looking at him sideways on. "One down, four to go."

"Excellent." The smile widened. "I have a somewhat…_personal_ interest in this particular project, so I'm hoping the test will be a success."

"_EUROSEC_," Kati thought. "_One of their odd-job men_. _The ones we're not supposed to know about._"

"Kill confirmed! Two kills to Cadet Dylandy!" Kati applauded, harder this time. That made two down and three to go.

"That was never a kill!" The screech drew the attention of the gallery to the simulators. One of the occupants, apparently the recently defeated, had climbed out and was making a scene. "That was illegal! I want that little…!"

"Dry up!" Kati looked to see a grey-uniformed Paladin with red-running-to-brown hair stand forth to challenge the troublemaker. "That was a fair kill and you know it!"

"What the hell do you know!" the pilot snapped back, evidently spoiling for a fight.

"I'm Patrick Colasour, ace of the EU!" the redhead proclaimed, half-exultant, half-outraged. "I've done two-thousand hours and never lost a fight!"

"Yeah, in your room, on your PC, with hand down your pants! You've never been in a real battle!"

"I've seen more than a washed-up air force dropout like you!"

"Bastard!"

Kati sighed as several other officers rushed in to keep the pair apart.

"So that's the famous Colasour," commented the devilish gentleman. "Quite the temper."

"Ah," Lisa perked up as the first pilot, the one with the short black hair, stepped between the two and set about calming them down. "_That's_ my Emilio!"

"Emilio?" Kati glanced at the man. "That's Emilio?" She knew that her friend was involved with a member of the Paladin Corps, but had never actually seen him. She wasn't sure she approved of Lisa having boyfriend of lower rank, but she wasn't inclined to do anything about it. It happened all time.

"Kill confirmed! Three kills to Cadet Dylandy!" More applause. The distraction also served to defuse the would-be brawl on the main floor.

"Finally," Kati muttered, as the officers returned to their posts.

"Rather fortuitous," the devilish man commented, still smiling. "It wouldn't do for the test to be cancelled on such a flimsy pretext."

"And what interest does EUROSEC have?" Lisa asked, before Kati could say anything.

"Our interest," Hamid replied, "is a matter of professional pride."

And it was, at least as far as he was concerned.

_**

* * *

**__**The Training Halls, St Darwin Boulevard, Pendragon, October 2009 ATB**_

Bismarck had never seen his son like this.

His input was required on a matter of the utmost importance, so he expected to be tied up until the next summer at the earliest. As such, he had decided on a friendly sparring session with Alexander in the training hall, to get a feel for how he was developing, and just to spend time with him.

But something had come over Alexander. Something harsh and terrible. His body seemed to burn with a dire energy, an inferno within that seemed only to grow hotter and brighter as they battled. His son was in the grip of a terrible rage, one that had been slowly consuming him for many months.

Bismarck understood why.

Alexander came at him again, eyes blazing, sword thrusting for his heart. Bismarck had to dart backwards as he parried. Alexander swung and slashed, eyes blazing, grunts of frustration escaping through his gritted teeth. Bismarck spun, cloak billowing, allowing Alexander to barrel past him. Alexander thrust out one toe, pirouetted, dropped, legs spreading wide as Bismarck's sword slashed through empty air. Alexander leapt up, thrusting again, forcing his father back. Bismarck blocked, blocked again, and again. He tried the sidestep trick as before, but once again Alexander recovered.

He was certain that the rage had not taken over. His son's technique was too good, too controlled, for that to be the case. But it was in there, and it was getting on his nerves.

He stood where he was, allowing Alexander to charge him once again. But Alexander had changed tack. Instead of thrusting straight forward, he came with his sword at his right, the blade aimed backwards. Bismarck saw it coming, raising to parry as Alexander brought his sword round in a back-hand strike. The parry sent the blade out and away. Bismarck stooped and spun, hoping to catch Alexander in the side. But Alexander darted away, pulling off a roundabout slash as he went. The sound of tearing fabric cut reverberated through the room.

Alexander stood where he was, still in a combat stance, breathing heavily. Bismarck likewise stood still. Their eyes bored into one-another, daring one-other to make the next move.

"You will of course tell me," Bismarck said with exaggerated restraint, "what has brought on this mood."

Alexander did not reply. He stood where he was, staring his father down, trying to control the rage that scorched his soul.

"If you will not answer, I'll answer for you," Bismarck went on, sheathing his sword. "You're still upset over Lady Marianne."

Alexander's eyes widened in surprise, and then he looked away, ashamed.

"You are angry, perhaps?" Bismarck fingered the hem of his cloak, where Alexander's blade had ripped it. "You are frustrated, maybe?"

"I…couldn't save her," Alexander said, forcing out the words. "I couldn't do anything."

"A dreadful dereliction of duty on your part," Bismarck quipped, dropping his cloak. "Already twelve years old, yet you were unable to protect her."

"I let her down," Alexander went on. "But that's not all."

"Indeed?"

"I couldn't save any of them." Alexander felt a lump at the back of his throat, and his heart being squeezed in a vice. "I couldn't even save Prince Lelouch, or Princess Nunnally. They were sent away."

"That wasn't your decision."

"I should have said something." Alexander would never forget that day, not long after the assassination, when Prince Lelouch had confronted his father in the audience hall and demanded to know why his mother had been allowed to die. The Emperor had rewarded his effrontery not only by stripping him of his titles and rights, but by banishing him along with Princess Nunnally to the distant land of Japan, ostensibly as hostages in an ongoing trade dispute. The fact that the Princess was blind and crippled as a result of the assassination made it all the worse.

Alexander knew what would have happened had he defied the Emperor, the man who knew his darkest secret. But what did that make him? Someone unwilling to sacrifice himself for the children of the woman he loved? Someone who cared more for his own place in society than for honour or loyalty?

"I am a coward, father," he confessed, unable to conceal it any longer. "I know I have disappointed you."

"What disappoints me," Bismarck finally looked at him, "is that you insist on blaming yourself for something you could not prevent."

"I…" Alexander was shocked, bewildered, and more than a little hurt. "I should have done something, _said_ something. I should have stood up for Prince Lelouch, even if the Emperor punished me."

"He would have punished you. And it would have changed nothing." Bismarck stepped forward and knelt to look his son in the eyes. "You are only a child, and only one, alone."

"I'm sick of being a child!" Alexander blurted out. "I'm sick of being weak! I'm sick of being too weak to protect anyone! I'm sick of being a coward!"

"You are weak, my son" Bismarck's stern tone cut through his outburst. "But you are not a coward."

"Then why couldn't I stand up to him!" Alexander had tears in his eyes. "He might have punished me, but he can't take my honour!"

"Yes he can," Bismarck retorted. "He can, and he is the only man who can. There is nothing that you or I possess, that he cannot take away. He is the Emperor, and that is the way of things." Alexander trailed off, shocked. His eyes were wide and afraid.

"Alexander," Bismarck softened his tone, laying down his sword to squeeze his son's shoulder. "I am, and always shall be, your proud father. That, no one can take from you."

Alexander felt a rush of emotion as his father pressed him to his shoulder in a quick hug.

"You will know what to do," Bismarck said, "when the time is right. Your strength will call to you, and you need only answer."

There was a knock at the door, and a servant entered.

"Her Imperial Highness Princess Euphemia has arrived, your Lordships."

"Very well. We will attend upon her Highness immediately." With that, they followed the servant out of the training hall.

They encountered the Princess in the atrium, accompanied by a tall, stern-featured man in the white uniform of the Imperial Guard. Alexander recognized him immediately as Andreas Darlton, Captain of the Guards at Chalcedon Palace. Father and son bowed low.

"Your Imperial Highness," Bismarck spoke in his most respectful tone. "Please excuse out tardiness."

"It's no trouble," Euphemia replied happily. "I've only just arrived. I came to take Alexander back."

"Of course," Bismarck bowed again. "Please bear my thanks to your mother for agreeing to take him in."

"I will, thank you Lord Bismarck." She acknowledged him with a nod as Bismarck bowed one last time and left the atrium. Alexander watched him go, wondering just what business it was that would be keeping him until next year.

"Shall we?" Euphemia gave Alexander a coy smile and offered her arm. Blushing, Alexander hooked his own arm through it, and they headed for the waiting limousine, followed closely by Darlton. Alexander could have sworn that he saw a flicker of amusement in the man's eyes.

The luxurious car contained three compartments. Euphemia and Alexander occupied the central compartment, which was the most luxurious and best-protected. Darlton was in the compartment behind with another guardsman, while yet another guardsman rode in front with the driver. Alexander had learnt about the security procedures from Cornelia, and knew that this was intentional. The Imperial family's limousines could withstand a direct hit from an anti-tank missile, so the only method of attack likely to succeed, without an unfeasible amount of firepower, was a direct attack on the driver's compartment. Even if a successful attack killed both driver and guardsman, there would still be two more guardsman in the rear compartment. Not only were they generously furnished with small arms, but the compartment included a cruise-control system that would allow them to drive the limousine to safety even with the driver dead and the tires flat. The House of Britannia did not take its security lightly.

Euphemia and Alexander sat opposite one-another as the car pulled away.

"I'm sorry we have to travel like this," Euphemia commented. "But mother's been so worried since Lady Marianne died. She makes poor Andre follow me everywhere I go."

Alexander was momentarily surprised, before realising that she meant Andreas Darlton.

"It's no problem at all, your Highness." Euphemia sighed at his words, and Alexander felt a twinge of embarrassment. He knew that she disliked people being overly formal around her, but he just couldn't relax enough to do otherwise. He couldn't forget that while she might act in a friendly manner, he was _not_ her equal.

"I'd much rather you call me Euphie," she said. "But you can call me Princess if you prefer. My friends all do."

"As you wish, Princess. Thank you for taking the trouble to collect me in person."

"Don't worry," she smiled. "I wanted to get out and about, even if it's only like this."

Alexander smiled also, relieved by her cheerfulness. That, along with the frilly white dress she was wearing, indicated that her mourning period was now over, and that it was time for life to go on. He felt better just being near her.

"Oh," Euphemia perked suddenly, pulling something from her shoulder bag. "A letter arrived from Lelouch this morning."

"From his Highness?" Alexander was intrigued.

"Yes. He and Nunnally have been living with the Prime Minister of Japan. He's made friends with the Prime Minister's son." The thing she took from her shoulder bag turned out to be a photograph, which she held up for Alexander to see. Leaning forward, Alexander saw Prince Lelouch and Princess Nunnally, dressed in their 'commoner disguises', the Princess seated in a wheelchair, her eyes closed, but smiling brightly. With them was a boy of about Prince Lelouch's age, south-east Asian in appearance, with brown hair and green eyes.

"They seem to be enjoying themselves, Princess."

"Yes, they are," Euphemia beamed, returning the photograph to her shoulder bag. "And we'll enjoy ourselves too, until they return." She gave him another coy smile. "All my friends want to meet you, you know."

"I…" Alexander had been caught off-guard. "I shall do my best not to disappoint you, Princess."

"Your manners will have to be perfect if you want to keep mother happy," Euphemia's smile turned mischievous. "You'll have to kiss their hands, and pay them compliments, and tell them all about yourself. And you'll dance, of course. You're the only boy we have, so we'll have to share you."

"Princess!" Alexander was terrified. The thought of dealing with a horde of twittering, giggling, dress-wearing girls, all or most of them younger than him, was frightening indeed.

Euphemia burst out laughing. Not delicate tittering behind a hand or a fan, but full-throated and unrestrained. Alexander's horror turned to bewilderment, and then he started laughing too.

"Don't worry," she managed to say eventually. "They're not that bad. Of course they'll probably want to marry you. Or rather their parents will."

That didn't surprise Alexander much. Cornelia had teased him about his marriage prospects a fair few times. It was not conceited to understand that as the son of the Knight of One, he would be a good catch. Even at such a young age, Euphemia's friends would be under pressure from their parents to draw his eye. Unless, of course, they were already promised to others.

"And don't worry about mother either. She's very particular, but I know she thinks a lot of you." Euphemia faltered suddenly, her smile fading. "Actually, that's why she wanted you to come right away."

"Is it Cornelia, Princess?"

"Yes." Her smile was gone. The atmosphere in the compartment had darkened. "She's still trying to find the killers. There's nothing, but she just won't stop." Euphemia looked straight at him, pleading in her eyes. "Mother thinks you might be able to convince her."

"I understand, Princess," Alexander replied gravely. "I will do my best. I owe Princess Cornelia too much to do otherwise."

_**

* * *

**__**Chalcedon Palace, St Darwin Boulevard**_

In the corridor outside Princess Cornelia li Britannia's chambers, two men were conversing on a matter of great importance. Both wore the white uniforms of the Imperial Guard. Both were young, and both were handsome, each in his own way. Neither was in a good mood.

"Is he coming?" Guardsman Graham Aker asked.

"Yes," replied Guardsman Sir Gilbert G. P. Guilford. "Her Highness is bringing him now."

"I hope he can get through to her Highness." There was worry in Graham's green eyes.

"Whether he can or he cannot is of no concern," Guilford retorted sharply. "We serve her Highness, and through her, his Imperial Majesty. We do not question her intentions or wishes."

"Even so, Queen Amelia asked us to keep an eye on her," Graham insisted. "This can't go on, and you know it."

"Has anything come up at all?"

"Nothing." Graham's lip curled in frustration. "We've been searching for months, and we even have the weapons, but still no leads. I agree with her Majesty, this has to stop."

"You may agree with her Majesty's intentions," Guilford reproved, "but that cannot have bearing on your actions. We serve, and do not question."

"You remember Jeremiah Gottwald, from the Academy?"

"Yes."

"I just found out, he was Empress Marianne's Guards on the day," Graham related, grim-faced. "Turns out he snapped, spent three months in the psycho ward, and transferred to the regulars."

"I already had misgivings about his psychological stability," Guilford commented. "But I didn't know he transferred. It seems too soon." And it was. It was not uncommon for high-flying officers to spend some time in the Imperial Guard before transferring back to the regular forces. But they usually had to spend a year or two to gain any meaningful prestige.

"I think I know why he did it." Graham looked haunted. "I think he did it out of shame. I think he felt it was the only way to redeem himself. He's that kind of guy."

"And you wonder if you shouldn't do likewise."

"Shouldn't we?" Graham looked straight at Guilford, who showed no reaction. "I mean, we let her get killed. It's on us, no matter what anyone says. Maybe Jeremiah did the right thing."

"What he did was run away," Guilford retorted icily. "He ran from a disgrace that was not his to bear, and that became his disgrace. We owe Princess Cornelia our loyalty. If you run as he did, when she has not dismissed you, then his disgrace is yours also."

"Is loyalty the same as obedience?" Graham snapped, on the verge of losing his temper. "You're her Knight, aren't you? You know what this is doing to her!"

"I have that honour," Guilford replied coldly. "And I know my duty."

Just as the two men were different in appearance, they were different in their backgrounds. Guilford was from a well-to-do family, while Graham had risen from the gutter, almost literally. It coloured their attitudes in a great many ways.

"Well," Graham growled, angered but knowing that he could go no further, "I just hope the young Lord can help her. It's worrying Princess Euphemia too."

"You are right." Guilford did not show it, but he was as worried as Graham. His Princess had spent six months in a thus-far fruitless investigation of the assassination of Empress Marianne vi Britannia, the woman she had respected most in all the world. The particulars of the killing were fairly open and shut. Two MC-20 assault rifles, of the new type recently issued to the Imperial Guard, found dumped in the trees outside the palace, on a direct line of sight to the windows through which they had been fired to strike the Empress dead. Cornelia's investigators had not been allowed access to Marianne's body, which had been removed and cremated by Prince Schneizel almost immediately after the incident. However, they had managed to extract several bullets from the stairs and walls. The MC-20 was an electromagnetic coilgun, meaning that the caseless bullets were not marked as they might have been in older weapons, making ballistic fingerprinting impossible. However, a specialized stamping mechanism had been added as a security precaution, meaning that the investigators were able to match the bullets to the rifles. They were, beyond reasonable doubt, the murder weapons.

But they did them little good, for they could not identify those who had wielded them. A check of the serial numbers matched them to two rifles reported missing only a hour before the assassination.

It was the Empress' order to delay the Guard replacements that had proven fatal. The change of the Guards was supposed to begin at 12:00 hours, the whole process taking around ten minutes. The replacements were ordered not to begin their deployment for twenty minutes, a process that began at the rear of the Villa and generally took at least that long, the retiring guards not standing down until their replacements were in position. What happened was that the retiring guards had stood down as normal at 12:00, but their replacements had not even begun to deploy, and would not do so until 12:20. This left the front of the Villa vulnerable from around 12:05, for the changeover at the front took about five minutes, through to 12:27, when the replacements would begin to arrive. Twenty minutes was more than enough time for the killers to sneak through the trees and take up position. The actual shootings had taken place at 12:19, meaning that even though the guards were running rather than Stechmarching, that still left the killers four minutes to drop their guns and escape through the trees.

And that raised the biggest question of all. _Why_ had the late Empress given such an order? It was only after interviewing the servants that they had gained any insights. She had ordered five stewards to guard all but one of the entrances to the main entrance hall, ensuring that no one entered for twenty minutes. According to the account of Prince Lelouch, two had been killed in the same volley that slew the Empress, having run down the stairs in a vain attempt to stop Princess Nunnally, who had entered from one of the upstairs doors along with her brother. The surviving stewards claimed to have heard noises to this effect from their posts, though they only entered after they heard gunfire. No one mentioned anyone else being in the hall when they entered.

The only reason any of them could think of for Marianne's behaviour was a clandestine meeting, which must have concluded before Nunnally entered the hall, the other party escaping via the unguarded door.

It was too close to be a coincidence. But then why would the Empress meet with someone seeking to kill her? There were only three possible reasons; that she had trusted the person, or she had been reckless, or she had no choice.

The answer had been clear. It could not have been blackmail, for Marianne vi Britannia did not care what people thought of her. It could not have been her trademark recklessness either, for she was not fool enough to engineer a gaping security breach for no good reason. It was obviously someone she trusted.

Someone she trusted, who wanted her dead.

Whoever this person was, they had been able to engineer the theft of two rifles, and then hide the killers until they could be spirited away from St Darwin Boulevard, or else simply disposed-of.

In other words, an inside job.

In other words, the killer could not be identified, because the trail had gone cold.

Guilford could not blame his Princess for being frustrated and desperate. Part of him wanted to struggle on, on the off-chance that they found something. But the rest of him knew that it was hopeless.

His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of footsteps. He looked up to see Queen Amelia li Britannia approaching along the corridor, followed by Captain Darlton, Princess Euphemia, and Alexander Waldstein. He and Graham snapped their heels and saluted as they drew near.

"Have you heard from her?" the Queen asked, her tone commanding.

"No, your Majesty," Guilford replied.

"I see, very well." Amelia li Britannia turned to face them all. She looked like an older, more feminine version of Cornelia, with the same purple hair, much the same face, and much the same personality. The difference between them was that Amelia _always_ behaved like the noble lady she was, and expected the same of both her daughters. It had caused no end of conflict with Cornelia, who had neither aptitude for nor interest in the sort of pursuits Amelia thought suitable for Princesses. Ironically, for those who bore witness to it, the strife between mother and elder daughter over their differences actually underlined how alike they really were.

"Gentlemen," she addressed her three Guardsmen. "You are all aware of what has happened these past months. My daughter has ignored not only my entreaties, but those of Captain Darlton as well." To those who knew how fond Cornelia was of Andreas Darlton, those words said it all.

"Therefore," she went on, "I have asked his Lordship Alexander Viscount San Clemente," she gestured to Alexander, "to make an entreaty himself. Open the doors."

Trying not to look afraid, Guilford and Graham took up position either side of the double doors, swinging them open in unison. Steadying his heart, Alexander stepped over the threshold, Euphemia at his side. The doors closed behind them.

At first they could not see her, for she was not in the lounge. Euphemia poked her head around one of the open doors. Alexander moved to her side, and found himself tip-toeing. The room appeared to be Cornelia's office, or at least it had been before a small hurricane had passed through it. The room was strewn with paper, pinned to the walls in haphazard fashion, spread out over multiple desks, even on the floor.

Alexander and Euphemia clasped hands as they stepped nervously into the office. Finally they saw Cornelia, hunched over one of the desks, her head in her hands.

"What do you want?" she croaked.

"Sister…" Euphemia trailed off, frightened. "Sister…Alexander's here."

"Really." Cornelia turned her head to look at them. Alexander's heart flew to his mouth, and he heard Euphemia gasp.

It was not his Princess. His Princess did not look so drawn, so defeated, so dire. His Princess did not have bags under her eyes.

"Princess." Alexander steeled himself. "Your mother…we all request that you put an end to your investigation…for the sake of your health."

"My health?" Cornelia sneered. "Empress Marianne is dead. There is no suspect. And you worry about my health?"

"Princess, forgive me," Alexander pressed on. "You _must_ stop the investigation. You do Lady Marianne no justice my destroying yourself."

"Oh I _must_, must I?" There was something dark and cruel in her tone, that Alexander had never heard there before.

"Yes," he said. "You must."

"You _dare_ dictate to me!" Cornelia bellowed, kicking her chair aside. She was incandescent, wrathful, her eyes blazing like fire. "You _dare_!"

Euphemia flinched, terrified of this apparition. She had _never_ seen her older sister like this. It was beyond imagination.

"Yes, I dare!" Alexander barked, standing his ground even as he wanted to flee, or fall on his knees and beg her forgiveness. "I dare because I must!"

"Marianne vi Britannia is _dead_!" Cornelia roared. "Murdered! And you would have me leave her unavenged! You're no better than that _bitch_ out there!"

"Cornelia!" Euphemia wailed, horrified.

"All that I am!" Cornelia snarled, hunching her shoulders and shuddering. "All that I might be, I owe to Marianne vi Britannia! She encouraged me when no one else would! She understood me when my own mother didn't want to!" The shuddering got worse.

"She taught me how to be myself. No one else did that. No one."

There was silence. And in that silence, all Alexander could hear was the beating of his own heart.

"_You will know what to do when the time is right. Your strength will call to you, and you need only answer." _

He stepped in front of Cornelia and dropped to one knee. Both sisters stared as he drew his sword and held it by the blade, the point over his heart, the handle to Cornelia.

"Princess," he said, his mind made up. "Had you let me, I would have offered you my life, as Sir Gilbert did. If my life will atone for my offence, then take it now. If my life will ease your suffering, take it now, and don't regret it."

Cornelia blinked in surprise. Euphemia looked from one to the other, fearing that her sister might take him up on the offer.

"Lady Marianne…was like a mother to me," Alexander said. Euphemia's eyes widened. "She even asked me to call her _mother_. She offered to be my mother. No other woman did that."

"Princess," he paused, driving down the lump in his throat. "My father told me that my honour is my own. But my life, Princess, belongs to you, and you alone. I cannot live and watch you die. I cannot live, knowing that I cannot be of use to you. I cannot live, if you cannot live, my Princess."

Cornelia could not bring herself to say anything. She only stared into his eyes, his eyes that were full of resolve. She glanced her Euphemia, who stared up at her in fear and hope. She glanced at the doorway, to see her mother standing there, along with Darlton, Guilford, and Graham. She had not heard them come in, but knew that the crash of her chair had brought them running. She looked into her mother's eyes, and her mother looked back.

And she knew what to do. The words came to her, older than the Empire, older than her bloodline. She knew the words, and he knew them too.

"Wilt thou be my sword-arm, my liege-man, and my knight?"

"By God and my right hand, I swear thy holy oath."

"Wilt thou swear to Justice, to Mercy, and to Charity?"

"By my sword-arm and my true heart, I swear thy holy oath."

"Wilt thou be valorous, of pure heart, and humble?"

"By my first breath and my last, I swear thy holy oath."

"Wilt thou do thy Liege's will, forsaking base desire?"

"My will is thy will, thy will and thine alone."

Forcing her hand not to tremble, Cornelia took Alexander's sword, and raised it to _en-garde _position.

"I dub thee, _Sir_ Alexander Bismarck Waldstein, Knight of the Empire. Once," she lowered it to his right shoulder, "twice," then to his left, "and three times."

She laid the sword across her open palms, and held it out. Alexander took it upon his own palms, and sheathed it.

"I trust," Cornelia gazed over the witnesses, "that no one will challenge this?" Graham and Guilford kept their peace, as did her mother. Euphemia looked amazed.

"It is an old oath, your Highness," Darlton spoke up. "But a proper one." At his words, Cornelia finally cracked a smile. She turned back to a still-kneeling Alexander, and held out one hand.

"Arise then, Sir Alexander."


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_**Britannian forward military base, Area 18 (formally Libya), April 2017 ATB**_

Lieutenant Sir Alexander Bismarck Waldstein, Viscount San Clemente, stepped out of his quarters.

Eight years had passed since the assassination of Empress Marianne, and seven since the invasion of Japan, now Area 11. Back then, he had been a smooth-faced, bright-eyed boy of twelve summers. Now he was a young man of twenty.

His face was elegantly tapered, his chin not too prominent. His black hair was stylishly dishevelled, giving him an air of energy and confidence. His body was lean and powerful, made strong by years of training, encased in a maroon tailcoat emblazoned with gold braid. The colour marked him as a Royal Guardsman, a member of that Corps of the Imperial Guard responsible for protecting members of the Imperial family outside St Darwin Boulevard. The style marked him as an officer and a Devicer, a member of the Royal Knightmare Guards.

It was a status he had come to only after years of effort. In his thirteenth year he had entered the Cadet School at Colchester, a seat of learning accessible only to those from military families or by recommendation. There he had trained, studied, and grown until his seventeenth year, when he passed the entrance exam for Benedict Arnold Military Academy. From thence he had graduated in his twentieth year, with the coveted white sash marking his selection for the Imperial Guard and a reputation for swift and efficient violence. Many boys got into fights at the Cadet School, as did cadets at the Academy. Alexander got into a fight once, and only once. After that, it never again proved necessary.

Anyone who looked into his eyes could see it. They could see there not bloodlust or malice, but a noble strength and dignity, qualities that came as much from his own self as years of training.

If they looked even deeper, they might note the terrible secret that they hid.

For Alexander Bismarck Waldstein had not always gone by that name.

During quiet times like this, when he wasn't in a battle or preparing for one, Alexander could still wonder at how he had come to be there. The street urchin named Soran Ibrahim had, in his sixth year, been plucked from poverty to become the adopted son of Bismarck Waldstein, the legendary First Knight of the Round Table. The fact that he was not who he claimed to be still haunted him from time to time, though no one seemed to have found out. Even when it did not haunt him, it still made him wonder at the strange destiny that had turned him from a street orphan to a Britannian warrior-aristocrat.

It also drove him from within. It drove him to excel at any cost, to make himself indispensible to the Empire that had taken him in, yet despised that which he had once been. If he proved himself useful, he reasoned, then the discovery of his true background would mean little. At the very least, he would keep his position on the basis of undoubted merit.

Alexander strode along the corridor, the recycled air cool on his face. Soldiers of the Foot Guards, clad in dark red versions of the standard infantry uniform, snapped their heels together as he passed. As he rounded a corner, two lieutenants in the blue uniforms of the Imperial Army approached from the opposite direction. Though they were of the same rank, they nonetheless stood aside, snapping off crisp salutes. Alexander returned their salute with equal precision as he went by. Unlike some, he did not care to rub his status in their faces.

Another corner, and another, until he reached his destination. The ante-room outside the office reserved for the base's senior officer, who in this case was the Commander of all the Britannian forces sent to Libya. Her Imperial Highness, Cornelia li Britannia, 2nd Princess of the House of Britannia, Marshal of the Empire. The woman who held his oath, who had dubbed him a knight, who had selected him for her guards.

He was not the only person in the anteroom. There were several others, all uniformed like himself. Some were Staff Officers, identifiable by their black shako hats, while combat personnel went bareheaded. Two of them turned to acknowledge his salute as he entered. Both of them he knew well. Captain the Lord Gilbert G.P. Guilford, with his narrow face and long black hair, and Captain Sir Graham Aker, with a mop of blond hair and a roguish look.

"Well if it isn't the Young Meister!" Graham flashed a grin as he applied the nickname Alexander had picked up at Benedict Arnold.

"I trust you are entirely well, Sir Alexander?" Guilford, by contrast, adhered to the strict formality he was accustomed to.

"I am entirely well, Lord Guilford." Alexander glanced at the door of the office. "Has her Highness been seen?"

"Not since last night," Graham replied, a little grimly. Alexander understood why. Everyone on the base understood why.

3rd Prince Clovis la Britannia, Viceroy of Area 11, had been assassinated.

For all the shock and grief this news had provoked throughout the Empire, actual details were few and far between. It was known that the Prince had been found aboard his MCV, the cause of death being a bullet in the brain. It was also known that he had been overseeing an urban redevelopment project in the Tokyo Settlement, during which a sniper's bullet had penetrated the bridge.

That was the official version. The version known inside the Imperial Guard, including the Royal Guard Corps, was very different. It involved the stealing of an unknown item by the native Resistance, the subsequent levelling of the Shinjuku ghetto, and a battle therein that left three Rapid Reaction Companies badly mauled.

The part about the sniper was believable, Alexander had thought, so long as the sniper was in fact a knightmare frame. He had served on enough G-1s, the sphinx-like Mobile Command Vehicles, to know that. He did not in truth know what the bridge windows were made of, but he was certain that no man-portable weapon short of an ATGM could have penetrated.

_That_ he could have believed.

And that was the great mystery of it. Prince Clovis' killer had used a military-issue handgun at point-blank range, while no one else was present. The Prince's officers, guards, and attendants had left him alone up there.

Alexander felt a twinge of pain when he thought of it. He hadn't known the 3rd Prince all that well, but had never been given reason to regard him as an enemy. He had been close to Prince Lelouch and Princess Nunnally, often playing chess with his younger half-brother, but never once winning. He had been a flamboyant, overblown character, but with a tendency to loose his cool under pressure. Alexander had seen it in the extravagant, but apparently sincere apologies Clovis had made to Lady Marianne every time his mother, Lady Gabriella, mistreated Lelouch or Nunnally.

Alexander was saddened by Clovis' death, but that was not the main cause of his sadness. To think of Clovis' fate was to remember that of Lady Marianne, and Alexander had spent many years trying to get over it, to stop himself from picturing that terrible day during his darker moments.

But what _truly_ upset him was the effect of the news on his Princess. That she had not been seen all morning was a bad sign.

He would not have to wait long, however, as the door clicked open. All turned and saluted as Princess Cornelia swept out.

As he looked upon her, Alexander's doubts fled like darkness before the dawn. She was clad in the same uniform as themselves, but with flared white boots, her trademark cape billowing behind her. Her gunblade was at her hip. Only a slight redness in her eyes, and a touch of dark blue under them, betrayed a sleepless night.

"Good, you are here," she said brusquely. "Gentlemen, I have spent the last four hours receiving calls from various parties, one of which was our orders. On account of my brother's untimely demise, I have been ordered to assume his position immediately. I am sorry, gentlemen, but they got me this time."

Her levity raised a low rumble of laughter from among the assembled guardsmen. They all knew how many times she had wriggled out of taking a governorship, preferring instead to pursue her military career.

"Shall we prepare for transfer to Area 11 then, your Highness?" asked one of the Staff officers, whom Alexander did not know well.

"You will do nothing of the kind," Cornelia replied flatly. The Staff officers were taken aback.

"Your Highness, it will not do to keep them waiting."

"They will not be kept waiting," Cornelia retorted, "because in twenty-four hours we will finish this campaign once and for all." She paused, letting it sink in. As she looked from one to the other of her followers, she knew she could rely on them. She could see it in their eyes, and in their bearing. They believed in her, trusted her. And she had no intention of letting them down. The newcomers, including those bewildered-looking Staff officers, would learn the truth of that soon enough.

"As you are all no doubt aware, Area 18's current government has holed itself up in a little pleasure palace out in the desert." She looked at them, and saw that they understood. "It's about ten kilometres north of the EU Solar Power facility at Seraphaum."

"It's not far from the border either, your Highness" Graham commented with a sly grin. Guilford, and some of the Staff officers, shot him dirty looks, but Cornelia merely glanced at him with a thin smile.

"Sir Graham speaks shrewdly…for once." More laughter. "Our friends in Intelligence claim that this has seriously affected both the enemy's military and civilian morale. And, for once, I'm inclined to agree with them."

"Gentlemen," she went on after a brief pause, "it is true that this campaign is proving harder than we thought. Native resistance has bogged us down badly, and if their High Command is allowed to direct the defence unmolested, we will be here for the rest of the year. What is more, within a few more months the EU will have found the political will to intervene directly. This must _not_ happen, gentleman." Another pause.

"As such, I have decided to launch a direct attack on their bolt-hole. The attack will be planned in full today, and executed tomorrow." None of the Staff officers dared raise any objection. If Princess Cornelia wanted something done, it got done.

"General Darlton."

"Your Highness."

"You will command the main thrust against their hideout. Lord Guilford?"

"Your Highness."

"You will accompany General Darlton. The hideout is defended by a force of their _Bamides_ landcruisers, so our knights will need your leadership and skills."

"By your command, your Highness." Alexander could detect a hint of uncertainty in Guilford's manner. He was the Princess' knight, and did not like to be separated from her.

"I will lead a flanking thrust against Seraphaum, along with troops to garrison the town and the facility," Cornelia went on. "Once they're in place, I'll come north to support General Darlton. Sir Graham, Sir Alexander, you will both accompany me. Am I understood?"

Alexander was momentarily stunned. To be permitted to accompany his Princess into battle? To ride by her side?

"Yes," he snapped to attention and saluted, "Your Highness!"

_**

* * *

**_

_**Tehran, Capital of the Kingdom of Krugis, April 2017 ATB**_

Martial music filled the air, accompanied by the crack of booted feet on asphalt, and the cheers of a thousand joyous voices.

The parade, held to celebrate the founding of the Kingdom of Krugis thirteen years earlier, was a magnificent sight.

The _Javidan_ were at the van, led by a colour party and Honour Guard. The colour party bore two banners; one the green, white, and red of Krugis, emblazoned with a golden lion bearing a scimitar, the other the blue banner bearing the Shah's coat of arms. Colour party and Honour Guard alike wore the red and black uniforms of the _Javidan_, complete with gleaming helmets and breast plates for the occasion. As they reached the Imperial balcony, at a shouted command, their heads snapped to the right, looking upon the face of their Shah, who stood upon the balcony with the Prime Minister and the highest-ranking officers. Opposite, the massed bands of the _Javidan_ played _Cyrus the Great_.

After the _Javidan_ came the 3rd year officer cadets of the _Artesh_, clad in their khaki dress uniforms, followed by the 2nd year cadets, then the 1st year cadets. Then came the _Kamandaran, _the elite heavy infantry, marked out by their white berets. Then came regular infantry, wearing black berets. These were soon followed by Naval officers in white, Marines in blue, then sailors again in white. In turn came Air Force officers in blue, then the pilots in their flight suits and helmets.

As the soldiers on foot passed, the _click click click_ of their booted feet were replaced with a _clunk clunk_ of something heavier. The _Ganymede ALI_ knightmares of the _Savaran _followed the pilots, painted in _Artesh_ green. As they reached the Imperial box, they retracted their landspinners and marched, imitating the soldiers who had gone before. Their heads turned to the right, and a round of applause broke out as they raised their right hands in salute.

From one of the side balconies, Princess Marina Ismail, niece to the Shah, and Imperial Representative to the State of Kurdistan, watched the parade with a regally neutral expression.

Anyone who saw her would think her beautiful. Her luxuriant black hair, blue eyes, and finely-shaped face had enchanted millions. Her body was widely dreamed-about, mostly because very little of it could be seen. That day, it was concealed beneath a purple and blue outfit, with wide sleeves and loose pantaloons. But what truly charmed those who met her was her personality. Her heart was open, reaching to all humanity in the hope of peace. She could make anyone think that she was on their side.

And she didn't even have to pretend.

"The parade does not please you, _Shahzadi_?" Marina did not look up as her uncle's guest stepped up beside her.

"It's not the parade, Lady Nonette" she replied. And indeed it wasn't. The spectacle was a marvel to behold, showing the rebuilt Tehran in all its glory. She understood why the people cheered the soldiers as they marched past, why they had cried _Javid Shah! _when her uncle appeared on the balcony. She understood why the people felt such pride in their country, as it rose from the ashes. Her uncle had poured Krugis' oil wealth into the rebuilding, seeking to ease the suffering of the people. Schools, universities, hospitals, mosques, and so much more. Industrial investment had boosted the economy, and Krugisian goods were sold in the markets of all three superpowers. Krugis was on the rise.

But…

"What displeases me," Marina continued. "Is how they may be used."

"Your Highness dislikes war?" Nonette Enneagram feigned disbelief.

"Yes, Lady Nonette, I do." Marina was not intimidated by Nonette's levity. In truth, it merely confirmed many of her suspicions about the older woman. "I consider it one of the worst crimes any state can commit."

"It is most unfortunate, Shahzadi." Nonette's tone dripped with condescension. "But wars are more often that not necessary. Was this Kingdom of Krugis not created by war?"

"You are right," Marina kept her tone level. "Our kingdom exists as a result of war. It is also said that an Empire built on war thrives only on war and will fall in war. I believe that our Kingdom must change if it is to survive."

"It cannot survive if it cannot fight, your Highness."

"But it need not choose battles that need not be fought, Lady Nonette." There was a pause, as the two women appraised one another.

"Your Highness is uncommonly wise," Nonette eventually replied, giving her a slightly malevolent smile.

"I thank you, Lady Nonette." They were silent for a while. Below, the artillery was passing the Imperial balcony. It occurred to Marina that she had made the entire conversation while barely looking at Nonette, who bowed and stepped away from the balcony.

She found herself thinking of Kurdistan, where she had been overseeing the establishment of a new, theoretically independent government. She had been so relieved when her uncle took that course, part of her fearing that he would play the conqueror as so many Shahs had before. But it didn't seem to make the Kurds happy.

Nothing did.

It was said that Kurds had no friends but mountains, and Marina sometimes thought it true. Out of all of those involved in the Krugis Civil War, the Kurds had the most reason to be bitter, with the possible exception of the East Krugistanians, whose territory was now part of the Chinese Federation. There had existed a Kurdish state in Upper Mesopotamia since the days of Mustafa Krugis, but some of those who inhabited it had dreamed of something more. They had dreamed of a state that included not only Upper Mesopotamia, but a significant portion of Iran and nearly half of Turkey. Their dream had driven them to take control of the Kurdistan Province, and to incite uprisings in the areas they sought to annex.

The result was a year of bloodshed and chaos. The Progressive faction, by then in the ascendant in the western provinces of the Federal Republic of Krugis, had asked the EU to send in peacekeepers. The Radicals, controlling the eastern provinces of Pakistan and Afghanistan, had cried foul, declaring East Krugistan in order to defend their beliefs.

Her uncle, the new Shah of Iran, was left stuck in the middle, trying to be the referee.

She had been a child of eleven at the time, her intellect even then beginning to grasp what was happening. She remembered clearly the change in the atmosphere, how nothing seemed quite so free or easy. One day she had looked out of a window and saw the crowd gathered outside the palace. They had ranted and screeched, so loud and with such venom that she couldn't make out the words.

She remembered how a warm hand had touched her shoulder, and she had looked up into the kindly, pained face of her old tutor, Rasa Massoud Rachmadi.

"_Come away little Princess._"

She remembered him even then. How could she forget him? She remembered his warmth and his wisdom, as he taught her Arabic and the Qu'ran. She remembered her debates with him, and her sadness at his departure. She knew better than anyone how aggrieved he had been by the problems in Iran, and in the Federal Republic of Krugis as a whole.

"_Why must you go, Rasa?_"  
"_Because I believe in your uncle, little Princess. And I believe in you too. I only dare to hope that when you surpass him, you may acknowledge that I taught you as best I could._"

He had gone among the people, to try and bring about reconciliation between the warring factions, and to help the Shah make life better for the ordinary people. He had talked to them, argued with them, admonished them, reassured them.

Then he died, murdered by an assassin of the Justice Action Front. His death had heaped yet more fuel on the inferno, until it was all anyone could do to hold Iran together. In the end, it was force that ended the madness, the blood of thousands flowing through the streets to douse the flames.

In desperation, her uncle had called in the Britannians. He had effectively turned his country over to them, if they would but save his people. He had counted on the support of a significant faction of the Britannian aristocracy and Senate to avoid Iran being reduced to the status of an Area.

His ploy had worked, thanks to one man.

A man one gimlet eye, the other sewn shut. That tall, square-faced man with the long greying hair, swathed in a white cloak. The man named Bismarck Waldstein.

The man who had come in one night carrying a little boy in his arms. A little boy, who a few weeks later was introduced as Alexander Bismarck Waldstein. The explanation given was that the convoy bringing him to his father had been attacked in the streets of Tehran.

It was an explanation she had no reason not to accept.

* * *

As Nonette strode down the airy hallway, she soon found who she was looking for.

"Rai, my dear," she greeted the youth as he snapped to attention. "Have you done as I asked?"

"Yes my Lady," the silver-haired boy replied.

"Good, in which case I've done what Prince Schneizel asked me to do, and I can give you your new instructions."

"New instructions, my lady?"

"Yes, Rai, new instructions." Nonette regarded the youth for a moment. She took in his lean body, encased in the uniform of the Royal Panzer Infantry, his silver hair, and those vivid blue eyes. "Do you know of Sir Alexander Waldstein?"

"Yes my Lady," Rai's eyes suddenly flashed with enthusiasm. "I've heard that he's a great knight, and that he serves Princess Cornelia."

"He _is_ a fine knight," Nonette agreed. "And yes, he serves Princess Cornelia. And since they've finally roped her into becoming a Vicereine, he'll be accompanying her to Area 11 in the very near future." She leaned closer, as if he were a small boy. She was considerably taller than him. "So I'm sending you to Area 11 as well."

"My lady?" Rai looked so _adorably_ bewildered.

"Don't worry," she soothed, trying not to laugh. "I'm sending you to be Sir Alexander's understudy. You can learn a lot from someone like him."

"Oh…yes, my Lady!" Rai's countenance shifted to a mixture of trepidation and wonder. "Thank you, my Lady!"

"Don't thank me yet!" Nonette beamed. "Since you're still underage, I've enrolled you in a school so that you can complete your studies."

"Yes, my Lady." Rai seemed slightly crestfallen. "Which school?"

"A little place called Ashford Academy," Nonette replied. "I'm sure you'll find it a change of pace from that Foundling Home."

"Yes, my Lady."

For a moment, she regretted bringing _that_ little historical snippet up. It was relevant, in the sense that it was Rai's only experience of formal education, and also as the reason why he had no surname. Surnames were heritable, and children without family could not inherit anything.

But she certainly didn't regret plucking a sixteen-year-old army recruit from obscurity, even if it was only after one look at his training scores and Sync rate. It had been an ambition of hers to create her own personal retinue, one that could match Luciano Bradley and his Valkyries. Obviously they would have to be young, male, handsome, and very capable, capable enough to put Bradley and his harem in their places.

Rai was the only one so far, and she was finding the job of training him _very_ enjoyable indeed.

"Come then," she straightened up. "Let's pay our respects to our friend the Shah, and see what he's got to say about Schneizel's little proposal."

As the two walked off together, neither of them noticed the eyes staring after them down the corridor.

_**

* * *

**_

_**EUROFORCE military **__**base, Arab Republic of Egypt**__**, April 2017 ATB**_

"Paladin Dylandy, reporting as ordered, Ma'am!"

"At ease, Paladin."

Neil Dylandy did as he was ordered. Before him, in the very hot and very stuffy office, was a desk, standing behind which was a woman.

The woman was Colonel Leesa Kujo. Chocolate-brown hair framed a high, smooth forehead and finely-shaped cheeks. Her eyes were green, radiating strength, but also good humour. She wore the uniform of a EUROFORCE officer, consisting of a dark grey jacket, the gold EUROFORCE logo over the left breast pocket, though she had chosen the skirt rather than trousers. The jacket was open, revealing a grey high-necked shirt, pulled tight by an ample bosom.

_Very _tight.

Neil felt his cheeks heat up at the sight. It was hard enough that he was faced with an attractive young woman, but a superior officer? He couldn't be ogling hot Colonels! He was a _Paladin_!

"You're looking rather red, Paladin," Leesa commented, her tone mild. "Is it the heat?"

"I'm fine…ma'am."

"Don't worry about it." Leesa crossed the office to what Neil realised was a small refrigerator. She removed a clear glass bottle from it, and chose two glass tumblers from on top of it.

"It's only water, unfortunately," she explained, returning to the desk. "But rank has its privileges, and it's only until the new Command centre's fully constructed."

Neil understood. The base had only been there for a few months, and the construction crews had been ordered to start on the immediate necessities, such as runways and hangars. Comfortable, air-conditioned Command centres were a lower priority, since command-related tasks could be done out of existing buildings in the meantime.

"You've been brought here," Leesa put the glasses down and opened the bottle, "for a special mission, which is why I'm briefing you in person." She picked up one of the glasses and began to fill it with water. "This mission is…ah!" she gasped in shock and annoyance as some of the water spilled onto her bosom.

It was all Neil could do not to stare.

"Damn!" She handed Neil his glass. "Anyway, this mission is in one aspect regular, and in another classified Black Ultra. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Colonel." Neil did _not _understand, but knew better than to admit it. He was spending too much of his mental energy trying to keep his eyes off her soaked shirt, which was becoming increasingly translucent.

"The regular aspect," Leesa went on, "regards the Solar Power facility at Seraphaum. Are you aware of it?"

"One of the Neo-Energia Initiative's solar plants?" Anything to occupy his mind. _He could make out her bra!_

"Precisely. The Britannians seem to be trying to take them intact, no doubt planning to use them to provide power and water for their Settlements, while screwing the locals over in the process." She sipped her water. "Cent-Hem has issued a directive insisting that these facilities are not to fall into enemy hands."

She turned to the screen, her tight skirt tormenting Neil with lascivious visions, activating it with a touch of a button.

Nothing happened.

"Damn thing!" Leesa snapped. She glanced to one side, then bent over to fiddle with the power socket.

A peach! A perfect peach! Sweat trickled down Neil's brow as he tried to force his eyes away from Leesa's posterior.

He heard a click. A map of Libya shimmered into being, with the dispositions of forces marked blue for friendly, green for allied, and red for enemy.

There was a lot of red.

"As you can see," Leesa stood up and gestured at a long red horn, representing the main Britannian salient, "the main Britannian thrust is in the process of overrunning Tripoli. The Libyans aren't making it easy for them, but they aren't holding out half as well as we'd planned."

"It's the knightmares, Colonel." Neil felt a little relief to be on familiar territory. "The Libyan troops have no experience of dealing with them beyond the data we've been sending."

He was right. Knightmare frames had changed warfare in a way that no one could have predicted. Officers and pundits who once laughed at the very idea of walking mecha were currently eating their words, as Britannia's forces swept across Africa.

"That's was the Strategos Corps' conclusion too." Leesa shot Neil a smile. She meant it to encourage, but it made him want to run away before he did something unforgiveable.

_She was just so…_

"We decided it couldn't be the artillery or the tanks," she went on, oblivious to the Paladin's _amore_. "Their _Caliburn_ combines the two to maximise mobility." She pressed another button, and a smaller screen superimposed itself over the map. The _Caliburn_ had a fairly conventional turret, set on a six-wheeled chassis standardized with their ? APC. From the turret extended a 360mm enclosed railgun, the _Caliburn_'s main weapon and redeeming feature. It was also, unfortunately, a tad _reminiscent_.

"It's a passable artillery piece," Neil commented, willing his thoughts away from Leesa Kujo's body. "But a lousy tank."

"What's more, they don't know how to use them," Leesa replied. "They bunch them up together. Reports from the Libyans suggest it isn't air power either. They were quite pleased with the SAMs we sold them. Unfortunately they kept getting jumped by knightmares."

She tapped at a glowing green point situated between Tobruk and Al Burayqah. All the territory around it was green, apart from a single blue point.

"This here is where the Libyan government is currently holed up. It may look like something out of the Arabian Nights, but it comes complete with a fully-equipped command centre and supplies for six months. From there, they can direct the defence for the whole of Cyrenaica." Leesa tapped at the screen again, the image zooming in to cover the Libyan-held region.

"Their remaining forces are concentrated in the coastal cities. So long as the government can keep coordinating the defence, they should be able to hold out for another six months or so. That'll give us enough time to launch a full-scale intervention."

"In other words," came a gravel voice from behind Neil. "Outright war with Britannia." Neil spun around to see a tall man in combat fatigues leaning on the doorframe. He had a mane of red hair, narrow eyes, and an air of barely-suppressed barbarism.

"Ah yes," Leesa looked up. "Paladin Dylandy, this is Hamid from EUROSEC, he'll be in charge of the mission. Hamid, this is…"

"Paladin Neil Dylandy," Hamid growled, looking the young pilot over. "Two-hundred kills in the simulator, fifty-two wins in sixty practice bouts." He leered. "No combat experience, but talented all the same. It's why I chose you."

"Yes sir."

Upon seeing the older man, Neil suddenly understood what people meant when they said that someone smelt of blood. There was no scent but the usual stale sweat about Hamid, one Neil had become accustomed to, but there was an air about the man. An air of violence, an air of murder.

"Would you mind if tell him the rest, Sumeragi my dear?"

"By all means." If Colonel Kujo was in any way offended by his familiarity, or the use of her codename, she made no show of it. Hamid swaggered up to the screen.

"The regular part of the mission is to make sure the Seraphaum facility does _not_ fall into Britannian hands." Hamid tapped the single blue point in the green zone. The map zoomed in again, showing the layout of the town, the surrounding terrain, and the facility itself. "That's what _I'm_ here to do, at least for the regular part. As for the Black Ultra part," he glanced at Leesa.

"My analysis indicates a very high likelihood that Princess Cornelia will lead the attack on Seraphaum herself, with a significant number of her available knightmares," Leesa went on. "This would leave her in a position to swing north in support of a simultaneous attack on the government hideout. The plan…_my_ plan, is to ambush the Britannians as they attempt to take possession of the facility. I've estimated that this offers a high possibility not only of killing the Princess, but destroying all or most of the knightmares accompanying her. As such, the other knightmares will almost certainly go to her assistance, leaving her armour and mechanized infantry with little or no knightmare support."

"Begging your pardon Colonel," Neil spoke up. "How can you be sure the other knightmares will come?"

"Because they're led by these two men." Leesa stepped over to the desk and tapped at her keyboard, bringing two pictures onto the screen. One showed a craggy, square-jawed man with honey-coloured hair and a diagonal scar. The other man was much younger, with a narrow face, glasses, and long black hair.

"General Andreas Darlton and Captain the Lord Gilbert G. P. Guilford," Leesa introduced them. "EUROSEC tells us that Darlton was responsible for Princess Cornelia's security since childhood, meaning he's been with her literally all her life. Guilford's a relative newcomer, she made him her knight at her graduation, but that means he'll follow her to hell and back. Believe me Paladin, if she's in danger, they'll come running."

"I understand Colonel."

"Be sure you do," Hamid interjected. "Her retinue includes some serious pros beside those two, and _you _get to fight them."

"Yes sir. How many of us will there be?"

"Aside from us two squads, for ten in all." Hamid's grin widened. "You'll be our sniper."

* * *

The knightmare hangar was quiet.

This did not mean an actual lack of sound. The hangar was merely _quiet_ by its usual standards, because only eight knightmares were currently being worked on.

Jacque Sant-Clare sat cross-legged on the hangar floor, tapping at the keyboard of his laptop. It was a military laptop, meaning that not only was it immune to water, mud, sand, and extremes of temperature, but could be used to bludgeon someone to death. Jacque Sant-Clare, Technician Second Grade, EUROFORCE Engineering Support Corps, had not yet found it necessary to do so, and doubted that he ever would, for under no circumstances would he be allowed anywhere near the enemy.

For one thing he was in Engineering Support, not Combat Engineering, so he had no business being on the battlefield.

For another, he was twelve years old.

Had he been anyone else, this latter fact would have put a significant damper on his career. The peoples of Europe were generally open-minded, but allowing a twelve-year-old anywhere near a combat situation still tended to cause upset. He was only there, in Egypt, in a EUROFORCE base, in custom-tailored EUROFORCE fatigues, working on a EUROFORCE knightmare, because of his name.

His name, and his abilities.

To say that Jacque was good with computers would be like saying that Mozart was good at music. He could compose code as if it were notes on a stave, mould it like clay, paint it in myriad colours. He could fashion a program the way Mozart had fashioned his concertos. But mostly he ended up doing knightmare programming, slicing and dicing the endless reams of code, for just a little bit more response, or to make it favour one side, whatever the pilot asked for.

He was the boy who made knightmares dance.

He did not fit the stereotype, however, for he was not mousy, nor did he wear glasses. His eyes were a vivid blue, even as they stared at the screen, and his blond hair was cropped short in military fashion. Many who saw him, and knew who he was, said he looked like his sister.

_Everyone_ knew about Collette Sant-Clare._ Everyone_ recognized the daughter of the First Consul. Few, by contrast, recognized the First Consul's son.

Which was fine by Jacque.

"Well, that's that done," came a familiar voice from behind the knightmare. Jacque looked up as an older youth emerged. He was dressed in fatigues similar to Jacque's own.

"You've finished the tuning, Saji?"

"Yes I have." Saji Tsuji, Technician Second Grade, gave his younger comrade a smile. "I did an especially good job this time round, since its Hamid-san's knightmare."

The two looked up at the knightmare. It was a _Glasgow_ clone, little different on the outside from countless others. Its appearance belied the hours of work done on it by EUROFORCE engineers, souping it up with untraceable black market components and tuning the systems, pushing it well beyond its factory specifications.

What was more, this was Hamid's personal knightmare. It was painted with a pattern of leaping flames, as if it had leapt from within and inferno. Hanging down its back were two knightmare-sized scimitars, which the EUROSEC agent had reputedly purchased with his own funds.

"I hope you did, Saji," Jacque replied. "You know he doesn't like anyone near his knightmare."

"Don't I know it." Saji's smile had a tinge of worry to it. Jacque had come to know the mild-mannered youth well, even counting him as a friend. He also knew that Hamid had taken a dislike to Saji, though he did not know why. "He said if he caught me near it he'd…"

"Show you what we do to traitors in Krugis."

Saji froze as he felt cold steel at his throat. He shivered as he felt Hamid's breath on his ear lobe.

"It involves…honey," Hamid hissed, enjoying Saji's mortal terror, "and…fire ants."

"Monsieur Hamid," Jacque spoke up. "If you please, he's the best mechanic we have."

"Oh I'm not going to kill _Crossroad_ here," Hamid's grin widened as he withdrew his knife. "But I distinctly saw him touching my knightmare. Methinks it had better handle like my own body."

"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN MY SAJI!"

A blur approached them at great speed. When it halted, it revealed itself to be a little shorter than Saji, with a cascade of blonde hair reaching its waist. A pair of turquoise eyes glared at Hamid.

"Now, Louise," Saji tried to placate his saviour.

"Keep your butcher blades away from my Saji!" Paladin Louise Halevy snapped, ignoring Saji. "If you hurt him I won't forgive you!"

Hamid shuddered as he stared back at the girl, his good humour gone. It was at times like this that he wondered why this…_creature_ had been allowed to join EUROFORCE. Louise Halevy was loud, opinionated, spoilt, and somehow convinced that Saji Tsuji was a specimen of masculine perfection. How she had made it through training he would never know.

"What's all this ruckus!" All looked up as yet another actor joined the farce, in the form of Lieutenant Patrick Colasour. "Who's raising hell in my Knightmare Hangar!"

"Your Paladin, _Lieutenant._" Hamid managed to inject the word with all the contempt he could muster. He didn't care much for the womanizing Lieutenant either, and knew for a fact that the feeling was mutual.

"Yes, _my _Paladin!" Patrick retorted, pointing at the unassuming figure of Neil Dylandy, who had arrived with Hamid yet remained unnoticed. "The one you _stole_ for your trip into Libya."

"What's wrong Lieutenant?" Hamid sneered. "Offended that I didn't invite you?"

"You didn't invite me either!" snapped Louise.

"Exactly!" Patrick suddenly slipped his arm around Louise's shoulders. "Denying the most beautiful young Paladin her first battle!" He promptly put his hand where a gentleman ought not to.

"AWAY FROM ME YOU PERVERT!" Louise shrieked, kicking Patrick hard on the ankle. Patrick gave a yell of pain and started hopping on his unhurt foot.

"Damn you Paladin!" he yelled, humiliated. "Kicking a superior officer in the shins!"

"That was self defence!" Louise shrieked back. "You were sexually harassing me! Saji!" She darted behind the unsuspecting technician. "Protect me from this Don Juan!"

Neil watched the farce in disbelief, feeling more than a little pity for the young man being ordered around by the blonde girl. After a few minutes, he began to feel neglected.

"Don't worry about them, Paladin." He looked up to see an older man in a uniform identical to his own step up. The man, who had spiky black hair, held out his hand

"Emilio Ribisi," he identified himself with a smile. "Garibaldi Brigade."

"Neil Dylandy, Tyrone Brigade" he replied, shaking the proffered hand. "Is this…normal?"

"It happens," Emilio shrugged. "Clash of personalities. Lieutenant Colasour can't keep his hands off women, Louise can't keep her hands off Crossroad, and Crossroad can't keep his hands off other people's knightmares."

"Crossroad?" queried Neil.

"His name," Emilio explained. "Tsuji, it means _Crossroad._ He's from Japan."

"Oh." Neil felt momentarily uncomfortable, then a thought occurred. "How old is he?"

"I'm not sure. He must be sixteen, seventeen maybe."

Sixteen or seventeen. That made him nine or ten when his country was destroyed. Neil shivered. It was the same age he had been when…

"Yes, I know he's a bit on the young side," Emilio chuckled. "But he's not the youngest. Here he comes now." Neil looked to see a twelve-year-old boy walk up to them carrying a laptop case by the handle. To his surprise, the boy saluted him.

"Technician Second Grade Sant-Clare, Monsieur."

"At ease Technician," Emilio returned the salute with a grin.

"Uh…Sant-Clare?" It was all Neil could think of to say.

"Yes, Monsieur," the boy replied with apparent equanimity. "First Consul Sant-Clare is my father."

"Your…" Neil's words caught in his throat.

"I'm twelve, Monsieur. And I have the dispensation."

"I know it's a lot to take in," Emilio patted Neil on the shoulder to reassure him. "But he's the best knightmare programmer we've got."

"If you please, Monsieur," Jacque interjected. "We could calibrate your knightmare for the mission now, since you are here."

"Oh…yes, why not." Neil glanced at the flame-painted knightmare, standing witness to the ongoing argument. "Are we using _Glasgow_ copies?"

"Yes we are," Emilio confirmed as he fell into step beside them. "It's so we can't be traced if it all goes wrong. You got briefed?"

"Yes, by Colonel Kujo."

"Oh…yes." Emilio seemed momentarily distracted, as if his mind had wandered off to a wondrous place. Neil watched his colleague in confusion, then felt a tug on his trouser leg. He looked to see Jacque gesticulating at him to come closer. Neil glanced at Emilio, saw that he was distracted, then leaned surreptitiously to listen.

"_She's his girlfriend_," Jacque whispered.

Neil felt a bizarre combination of regret and relief. Leesa Kujo, the superior officer he had the hots for, was already taken. On the other hand, it gave him a pretext to stop thinking about her, before he got himself into trouble.

So he would stop thinking about her.

He would stop thinking about her.

He _had_ to stop thinking about her.

_**

* * *

**_

_**Seraphaum, Libya, April 2017 ATB**_

The facility was quite a sight.

So Alexander thought as his cockpit opened, the seat sliding up and out. He stood up and looked around, taking in the facility in its entirety.

Heliostats, gleaming like polished silver in the morning sun, stretched for a kilometre in all directions. Off to one side stood a cylindrical tower, more than a hundred metres tall, onto which the heliostats were reflecting the sunlight. Alexander knew that inside the tower, sea water pumped in from the coast was being boiled into steam, which then turned the turbines in the building next to him. As an added bonus, the used steam was then condensed, providing clean water.

It was plain to Alexander why the Settlement planners wanted the facility so badly. Apart from the one he could see, there were two more towers, between them servicing several hundred heliostats, for a total power output of around one thousand megawatts. That was enough to power a small settlement, and would allow for rapid expansion.

As he looked around, he could see Britannian soldiers on foot, moving here and there as they inspected the heliostats. Princess Cornelia had brought an entire mechanized battalion of 800 men with her to secure the facility and the nearby town of Seraphaum. It would be more than enough, since the small town had turned out to be empty.

And so had the facility for that matter. There had been no reports of resistance, nor of a single human sighting. Both the facility and town were completely deserted.

It struck Alexander as very odd. He understood that the enemy, be they Libyan or EU, not attempting to defend the place, for it was not particularly defensible. What he didn't understand was why they had left the place intact. They must surely have known that the Britannian forces would come sooner or later, so why hadn't they?

His thoughts were disturbed by a beeping from inside the cockpit. Alexander sat back down, the pilot seat carrying him back inside his custom _Gloucester._ It was painted grey, Alexander having earned the privilege of a custom paint job by single-handedly crippling a _Bamides _landcruiser a week earlier. Rather than the 30mm Assault Rifle or the Shot-Lancer, both of which he found unwieldy, Alexander had equipped his frame with a pair of Machine Pistols, of the sort normally issued to the Knight Police. His choice had raised some eyebrows, but it had proven effective.

Looking at his console, he saw that the beeping was the comm, informing him that someone was contacting him. He opened the channel.

"Waldstein."

"Sir, we've found something in the number three turbine." Alexander entered the 'Link' command, and a video feed popped onto his main screen. He was now seeing through the electronic visor of one of the soldiers via datalink. The soldier leaned in, and Alexander could see his HUD scanning in the darkness. He could hear the other soldiers talking, though he could not quite make out the words.

Then the HUD settled on an object, barely visible inside the mechanism of the turbine, which had been switched off for the inspection. The visor moved closer as the soldier leaned in, Alexander straining his eyes to make out what it was.

He felt his heart contract as he made out the flickering red digits.

"GET OUT!" he screamed. "GET OUTTA THERE!"

The screen went blank, and an instant later he heard the explosion. Instinct pressed his feet down on the pedals, and his knightmare raced blindly between the heliostats. Behind him, the turbine building disappeared in a bright flash and a cloud of smoke.

But there was no respite on the field. Ahead and to his right, one of the towers blew apart with a deafening roar, clouds of boiling steam billowing out around it. Over the comm he could hear the screams of unfortunate soldiers as they were boiled alive. Explosions buffeted the _Gloucester_ as it sped over the sand. Alexander didn't know where he was going, and couldn't make anything out of the cacophony on the comm. All he could do was get out of there and find Princess Cornelia.

If she was still alive.

He made it to the edge of the town, pulling his frame to a halt. He looked back, and saw that the facility had been replaced with a sheet of flame and a column of black smoke. Nothing more would come out of there, not alive at least.

Gripped by a sudden anxiety, Alexander looked down at his IFF. He saw various blue knightmare icons racing back and forth, but he could not see his Princess' icon. Two of the icons were coming his way, and he looked up as two _Sutherland_ knightmares rounded the corner of the nearest building. They stopped in front of him, lowering their Assault Rifles.

"Report!" Alexander snapped.

"Enemy knightmares Sir! They look like _Glasgow _clones!" one of them shot back.

"Whose!" Alexander demanded. He wanted to know who the _hell_ was attacking him, and seeking the life of Princess Cornelia.

"Don't know Sir! There's no markings on them!" Alexander hissed in frustration, but knew there was no time for pique. His place was at Princess Cornelia's side.

"All right! You two fo…!"

One of the _Sutherland_s flew sideways, as if plucked by a gust of wind, crashing to the ground and exploding. Alexander's feet moved on their own, driving his knightmare away and behind the building, even as his mind ran riot. Behind him the other _Sutherland_ tried to follow, only to be blown away in the same fashion.

A sudden claustrophobia weighed in on Alexander. He felt trapped, constrained, unable to see except through his forward screens. The cockpit felt small and stuffy, as if it were closing in around him. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. _He was going to die…_

On the IFF, two LOST icons blinked accusingly up at him. The sight drew Alexander from his hysteria. He willed his heart to slow, breathing in and out, needing to calm himself.

Feeling his control return, he looked down at the IFF screen. He could see the blue icons of friendly knightmares, but that was all. He knew then that the two UAVs that had accompanied them had been destroyed. Ordinarily they would have been circling above, supplementing the satellite telemetry with more detailed information, passing it to the knightmares via datalink. But whoever this enemy was, they had known to take out the drones first. Now he could only see what his factsphere could see, and what the others could see in turn.

These enemies knew what they were doing.

There was nothing to be done for it. Using the comm was a risk, but he had to find his Princess.

"Princess, what is your position? Over." A crackle of static, and no reply.

"Princess, requesting SITREP, over." He felt cold in his stomach. Had she been killed already?

"Sir Alexander!" the familiar voice bellowed over the comm. "Is that you!"

"Princess, where are you!" Alexander's being was flooded with relief.

"I'm with Sir Graham by the fountain! Rally on me at once!"

"Yes, your Highness!" Alexander gunned the engine, moving his _Gloucester _out along the outskirts of the town. He knew where she was now. Seraphaum was a planned town, built on a grid pattern around two main streets. The fountain had been raised at the intersection, at the very centre of the town. He would be there within minutes.

He looked down at the IFF again. Adrenalin rushed as he saw two red icons appear near a blue icon ahead of him. The revelation was only momentary, as the blue icon turned to LOST, the red icons disappearing in turn.

Alexander thought fast. Rushing on would be a good way to get himself killed, but if he approached more cautiously he could get bogged down, wasting valuable time.

He pressed harder on the pedals, his speedometer climbing. He directed his knightmare's hands to draw the twin Machine Pistols, two targeting reticules appearing on the screen as they did. Ahead of him was a cluster of buildings, behind which the two enemies had last been seen. They were more than likely heading straight for him.

Even as he thought it they appeared, rounding the corner at speed. His console beeped frantically as he saw them, two _Glasgow_s in desert colours, raising their Assault Rifles as they came.

But Alexander was ready. He yanked on the joysticks, bringing the Machine Pistols up, firing in the manner of some movie gunfighter. Twin streams of 30mm rounds perforated the foremost _Glasgow_, blowing it apart. The other returned fire, forcing Alexander to evade. With practiced skill he kept his aim on the second knightmare, placing his fire right in its path. The second _Glasgow_ rolled straight into the line of tracer, the bullets tearing off its right arm and head. The maimed knightmare tripped and crashed to the ground, but Alexander was already on his way.

* * *

Neil hissed in frustration as the grey _Gloucester _vanished from sight. He had gotten the two _Sutherland_s but his primary target had escaped.

"Lockon to Sultan, one _Gloucester_ heading up the west side, over."

"Sultan to Lockon," came that growling voice over the comm. "Understood. Keep up your end, over."

Neil returned his attention to his IFF. From his vantage point behind a boulder about a kilometre east of the town, he couldn't see much more than any of his comrades. He had nonetheless downed four Britannian knightmares already, and as such would have to relocate soon lest they figure out where he was.

All at once he saw two Britannian _Gloucester_s heading south, neither appearing to have noticed him. Stilling himself, he readied his weapon, the new EK-2 Precision Gauss Rifle. He reached up and flipped down the targeting headset, his world turning red. He ran his thumbs carefully over the rollerballs, the targeting reticules shifting slightly with the movement. The reticules were arranged in a line, shifting and undulating like a toy snake. The inferno to the north was playing merry hell with the air pressure, making his shots that little bit trickier.

But Neil Dylandy, callsign Lockon Stratos, was up to the task. He had pulled off harder shots than the one he was about to, and at considerably longer ranges.

He waited, patient as a coiled snake, while the smallest reticule drifted slowly over one of the _Gloucester_s. The two crossed, and he _felt_ the moment. He squeezed the trigger, felt the rifle buck, and saw the target vanish in a blaze of white. The other knightmare broke away in full evasive. Neil saw its factsphere click open, a white glow sweeping back and forth over him as it went to active scanning. The head swivelled towards him, and his console beeped a warning.

Neil blew the knightmare away.

* * *

Racing the east-west main street, Alexander gritted his teeth as two more _Glasgow_s slid out of a side street. He fired, downing one in short order. As the other tried to back away, he holstered one Machine Pistol and extended his Stun Tonfa, catching it in a lariat strike as he passed.

He emerged into the main square, just in time to see his Princess' _Gloucester_ smash another _Glasgow _to the ground with a blow from its Shot Lancer.

"Princess!"

"Ah, Sir Alexander!" Cornelia's breathing was heavy over the comm, but she sounded as though she was enjoying herself.

"Hey there, Young Meister!" Graham called. "Did you see anyone else?"

"None. Did you?"

"Not me. I guess we're all that is." Alexander paused as he took this in.

"Princess, we should get out of here! We're at a disadvantage."

"Very well," Cornelia replied, after a long pause. "We'll head north via the facility. The smoke should cover our escape."

"Yes, your Highness!" Capes billowing, the three _Gloucesters_, two purple, one grey, roared up the north-south boulevard. Within minutes they emerged at the end, the burning wreckage of the Solar Power facility before them. Much of what would burn had already burned, leaving only blackened wreckage, aside from the two turbine buildings, which continued to blaze.

The three came to a halt, for something was blocking their path.

It stood where it was, wreathed in crackling flames. It was a _Glasgow_, painted in the colours of fire, a curved scimitar in each hand. It stood like a sentinel at the gates of hell, daring them to seek passage.

"Sir Alexander, Sir Graham," Cornelia hissed over the comm. "Take him on the sides, I'll come up the middle."

"Yes your Highness!" Alexander and Graham split sideways, levelling their guns to fire. The flame-coloured knightmare broke to its left, charging straight at Graham. Graham fired, but the _Glasgow_ jinked, seeming to flow like water. Graham snarled, dropping his Rifle and taking his Shot Lancer in both hands. The _Glasgow _was upon him, driving the lance aside with one scimitar and spinning, catching the _Gloucester_ in the waist with the other. The flame knightmare broke away as Graham launched his cockpit. But before it could bear him to safety, the _Glasgow_ turned to face the escaping cockpit, firing its Slash Harkens. The anchors caught the cockpit in the rear, knocking it off course to drive into the sand.

"Damn you!" Alexander screamed, firing his Machine Pistols until the clips emptied. But try as he might he could not hit the _Glasgow_, even is it broke away and charged him. He hauled on the sticks, slewing his frame to the right as the enemy came on. The _Glasgow_ shot past, giving him time to holster the empty guns and activate the Stun Tonfa at his wrists. The _Glasgow_ spun, firing of its anchors, but Alexander knocked them aside and charged.

Cornelia made to go to his assistance, only for her console to beep a warning. Another _Glasgow_, this time one of the desert-coloured, charged at her with Stun Tonfa crackling. With a snarl she brought up her Shot Lancer to block. Lance and Tonfa clashed, the knightmares breaking apart.

"Sir Graham!" she snapped. "Are you all right!"

"I'm fine, Princess," Graham sounded the worse for wear over the comm. "I'm sorry."

Meanwhile, Alexander was engaged in a duel of his own. His foe was a devicer of considerable skill, and entirely familiar with the uses of a knightmare frame.

None of his usual tricks had worked, for this one knew them all, and seemed to know a few of his own. He was also fast, lethally fast. One of his _Gloucester_'s pauldrons had fallen victim to his enemy's scimitar, and his Energy Filler was starting to run low.

The enemy came again, scimitars raised high. Alexander blocked the first, then the second. He tried to strike back but the enemy was too fast, striking again and again.

There was _something_ in his movements. Something familiar…

The enemy brought both scimitars down in a double overhead. Alexander crossed his Stun Tonfa, barely catching the deadly blades. The enemy pressed, forcing the blades down, the pressure making the _Gloucester_'s arms shudder. Warning lights flashed on the console. Alexander gritted his teeth, willing his knightmare to stand strong.

The comm crackled.

"You fight well for a Britannian," came a growling voice. "Whom do I have the honour of trouncing?"

"Sir Alexander Bismarck Waldstein!" Alexander snarled back. "And I am not trounced yet!"

"Could've fooled me!" The _Glasgow_ pressed harder, the _Gloucester'_s arms beginning to buckle.

"_I will bend like a reed in the wind._"

Alexander did not think. He merely allowed himself to do it.

He dropped. His _Gloucester_'s legs split apart, in the manoeuvre he had worked so hard to master. He fell down, away, the pressure lifting from his knightmare's arms. He yanked the sticks sideways, rolling his _Gloucester_ to the side. The _Glasgow_ stumbled forward ,and Alexander brought up his right arm to strike.

But the enemy was better than that. He spun, bringing his left arm round to parry. Alexander saw it, tried to shift the aim, but still the arm came on. His Stun Tonfa smashed into the _Glasgow_'s left arm, hitting with such force that the armour buckled. With a screech of tortured metal, the arm came away, scimitar still clutched in its lifeless hand.

* * *

From his new vantage point, Neil watched helplessly as the twin duels raged. Many times he had tried to get a lock, but the combatants were too fast, too unpredictable. He dared not fire for fear of hitting one of his comrades.

He could see Hamid fighting the grey _Gloucester_ from before, and felt a pang of irritation. Had he been quicker before, he might have taken the grey _Gloucester_ there and then, and Hamid would not be so occupied. He would be free to help Emilio take down the Princess.

He was sure it was the Princess, in a purple knightmare with those long, strange horns sprouting from its head. He could see Emilio attacking the custom _Gloucester_ with his Stun Tonfa, and was somehow managing to survive.

_If he could only…_

But Emilio was starting to falter, his _Glasgow_'s moves getting sloppier and slower. Neil was not much surprised. The point of the mission had been to strike hard and finish quickly, not to fight Britannian knights hand-to-hand. The Paladins had done too well already without asking for the Moon.

"Emilio! Emilio get away from her! I can't get a clear shot!"

"It's all right!" Emilio replied. "I can take her!"

"No you can't!" Neil was starting to panic. "You're no match for her! Get away or I can't shoot!"

"No no I can…!" But then the Princess caught him a blow with her lance, knocking the _Glasgow _away. Neil saw her raise her Assault Rifle, and knew this was his one and only chance. He took aim, and the reticule slid neatly onto the purple _Gloucester._

Then his knightmare was flung sideways, so hard that Neil hit his head on the cockpit wall. Warning buzzers screeched as he tried to regain control, his head spinning. When he managed to turn, he saw another _Gloucester_ boiling towards him, firing grenades. Neil cursed himself. While he had been fixated on the battle, that other frame had seen him and snuck up on him. Plenty of snipers had died for less.

The _Gloucester _was upon him, Stun Tonfa extended. Neil tried to back away, but the _Gloucester_ caught him on the legs, knocking his frame to the ground. The Britannian stood over him, as if savouring the triumph.

Neil looked over his console. His legs were offline, but his arms were still working, and he had one last trump card. He pulled on the sticks, willing the arms to move. The Britannian brought his Assault Rifle to aim, readying for the _Coup de Grace._

Neil fired, his custom Machine Pistol blowing the _Gloucester_'s head clean off. The knightmare staggered backwards. He fired again and again, puncturing the cockpit and the waist. One bullet penetrated the yggdrasil drive, and the knightmare exploded.

Neil managed to turn his stricken _Glasgow _to the side, looking desperately for Emilio. He saw Hamid falling back, his frame's arm blown off, the Princess moving to assist the grey _Gloucester_.

Then he saw Neil's _Glasgow_ lying broken on the sand, cockpit perforated with bullet holes.

"Emilio!" Neil cried, horrified. "I'll come get you!"

"No, Neil," Emilio coughed over the comm. "Stay where you are. This is…the only way."

"No! Emilio!" He couldn't let his comrade die. He couldn't let his friend, whom he had known so briefly, die like that. He couldn't go back and explain to Leesa Kujo that he had let her lover die. He _couldn't._

"Neil, tell Leesa it's not her fault. Tell her…it's the way of things. We fight…we kill…we die. It's a result…of God's guidance…"

The comm crackled, and fell silent.

* * *

The beast was cornered.

Cornelia and Alexander faced the flame-coloured knightmare, the cause of all their troubles. Its armour was scored, and the left arm was missing. The battle was over.

"You can surrender to us," Cornelia proclaimed over the loudspeaker. "Or you can die here and now."

"How about" the knightmare retorted, raising its left hand, "you run away, very fast." The object in its hand glowed.

"Alexander! Get away!" Cornelia shrieked. "It's a homing device!" Alexander was momentarily stunned, not understanding. Then it clicked.

"Are you mad!" he yelled over his own loudspeaker. "You'll kill us all!"

"Well I won't be taken," the knightmare sneered. "Your fates are your own." Cornelia swore viciously, turning her knightmare on its heel and heading for the open desert at maximum speed. Alexander did likewise, but instead headed for Graham's stricken cockpit.

"No kid!" Graham yelled over the comm. "Get outta here!" But Alexander came on regardless, his knightmare's hands scooping up the capsule.

Inside his maimed _Glasgow_, Hamid watched the pair flee.

"Sentimental," he sneered, dropping the homing device. "It'll get you killed one day…boy."

As Cornelia and Alexander fled, the first shell landed. Both felt the shockwave vibrating through the legs of their knightmares. Then another shell, and another.

They finally halted atop a sand dune. Turning, they watched as the town of Seraphaum was reduced to rubble. The shells seemed to scream as they fell, wreathing the town in smoke and dust as they landed. Of their enemy, there was no sign.

"Are you all right, Princess?" Alexander asked.

"I'm fine, Sir Alexander," Cornelia looked the grey _Gloucester_ over. "I'd say this mission is a bust."

"You damned idiot!" snapped Graham from inside his cockpit. "You could've been killed!"

"Sir Graham," Cornelia admonished. "That _damned idiot_ saved your life. You could try being grateful."

"Uh…well…" Graham seethed. He was a proud man, and did not like admitting failure or debt. But there was no way out of this one. "I…I owe you my life, Sir Alexander."

"You would do the same for me," Alexander replied sincerely.

"But all the same," Graham turned pensive. "That guy. To think he'd bring the artillery down on his head just to get us."

"From his accent, I'd say he was from the Middle East," Cornelia commented. "There are traditions there of men willing to die for a cause. They are called _Fedayeen._"

"He wasn't Fedayeen," Alexander replied grimly. "It wasn't to get us, it was to get away. Killing us would have been a bonus."

"You think he survived?" Cornelia asked casually.

"I know it, your Highness." Alexander's face twisted in anger and frustration. "I _know_ it. That man won't die so easily."

"You sound like you know him."

"I know his voice, and his fighting style. He's the one who led the raid on the Academy eight years ago."

"You think so?" Graham sounded surprised. "Kind of a small world, isn't it?"

"Your Highness," Alexander turned to Cornelia, wanting to change the subject. "Shall we extract?"

"You take Sir Graham," Cornelia replied. "Darlton and Guilford will be wondering where I am."

"Princess!" Alexander protested. "You're going alone?"

"I'm the only one here who can fight. Besides," she smirked. "After all this, I think I can handle a bunch of politicians in a pleasure palace."

"As you wish, your Highness." With that, Cornelia turned her frame and headed off across the sand. Suddenly she paused, half-turning.

"Alexander," she called back.

"Yes, your Highness?"

"Your technique has improved."

"Thank you, your Highness." And she sped away in a cloud of sand. Alexander felt his cheeks redden, his heart bouncing with pleasure, joy driving away the anger. To have earned his Princess' praise…

"Hey!" Graham yelled, banging his fist on his cockpit wall. "Hurry up and call the transport! I need a drink!"

_**

* * *

**_

_**Tokyo Settlement, Area 11, April 2017 ATB. **_

"Her Imperial Highness will see you now."

The Reverend Allelujah Haptism stood up, willed his stomach to stop doing somersaults, and crossed the anteroom to the open door. He stepped through, the servant closing the door behind him.

She was standing a few metres from him, looking out of the window. She was somewhat casually dressed, or so he thought, in a long orange skirt topped by a green girdle and a white dirndl with long sleeves. Her pink hair hung loose, save for two braids behind her ears. He felt relieved that he had worn only the standard black suit and shirt, complete with the white collar. He had been wondering whether he should turn up in the full vestment of a Priest of the Imperial Church, but had he done so, he would have felt ridiculous.

And her invitation had called it an informal meeting.

She turned her head to look at him, her long hair spilling around her shoulders. Allelujah felt himself blush, and was glad of the dark green bangs that covered his right eye.

_His _eye.

"Reverend Haptism," she spoke in a high, clear voice, as she stepped towards him. "I'm so glad you came."

"May the Lord bless you and keep you," Allelujah intoned, making the benediction. "May the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you." He bowed his head in humble reverence. "Your Imperial Highness."

"Now now," the Princess seemed a little taken aback. "There's no need to go to all that trouble."

"I cannot do otherwise, your Highness." And he meant it. "We of the Open Hand Foundation cannot thank you enough for your generosity."

"It's nothing at all." A sudden melancholy came over the Princess. "I mean, it's not as if I'm short of money, and you all do so much for the poor and unfortunate."

Allelujah knew what she meant. With the unfortunate death of Prince Clovis, Princess Euphemia had inherited a considerable portion of his fortune. Apart from money, this included several properties, a large collection of valuable paintings, and an extensive collection of Japanese historical artefacts, acquired as part of a well-meaning attempt by the late Prince to stamp out the illegal trade in such items. The result was the Princess Euphemia li Britannia was a young woman of considerable means. Her first act upon receiving this inheritance was to donate large amounts of money to a selection of charities of which she was a long-standing patron. The Open Hand Foundation, of which Allelujah was a member, was one of them.

"To give freely, and without condition, is a blessed thing, your Highness."

"_She's hot!_"

"If it were not for your generosity, it would not be possible to continue our holy work."

"_Don't deny it Allelujah! You want to take her here and now!_"

Allelujah managed not to scream. He had hoped, prayed, that the voices would not torment him while he was meeting the Princess.

"_You can take her, and they you can kill her_!"

"Are you all right, Reverend Haptism?" Euphemia looked concerned.

"Uh…yes, your Highness. Forgive me."

"I chose your Foundation because it works with Numbers as well as the Britannian poor," she said. "I have heard a great deal of your own work among the Numbers. It must be hard."

"_Don't you just want to tear off her clothes?"_ sneered the voice. "_Don't you just want to take her here and now?_"

"The Lord calls us to charity, and to benevolence," Allelujah replied, ignoring the voice with all his willpower. "Christ taught us that if we give without thought of reward, then God shall ask no reward of us."

"That must be very hard to live up to," Euphemia commented thoughtfully. "To have no reward at all? Not even the satisfaction of having done good?"

"We dare not presume the favour of the Lord, your Highness." Allelujah paused. He felt awkward and unworthy in the presence of such purity. "We dare not judge, lest we be judged and found wanting. This is the way of our Foundation."

"And that is why I chose to support your Foundation," Euphemia gave him an angelic smile. "Self-righteousness doesn't appeal to me, so your Foundation's humility was a breath of fresh air."

"Your Highness is kind to say so." Allelujah bowed.

"_Don't you just want to…_"

"Reverend Haptism," Euphemia suddenly seemed a little bashful. "I must confess, I asked you here for a reason."

"I am happy to be of help to your Highness."

"The thing is…" Euphemia paused, glancing from side to side, then lowered her voice. "I want to go outside but they won't let me. Would you please help me escape?"

"Escape!" Allelujah almost blurted before the Princess slapped her hands over his mouth.

"I'll go insane if I stay cooped up in here any longer." Euphemia's eyes were big and pleading. "I only need you to keep them busy outside so I can escape. Won't you please?"

Allelujah was momentarily stunned. There was something in those eyes, those warm, bright, innocent eyes, that took him to another place. It caused a memory to niggle at him, one he couldn't quite put his finger on. He knew that he could not refuse.

"As you wish, your Highness," he said with a sigh.

"I'm so grateful!" Euphemia cooed, then restrained herself. "I promise I won't let them punish you," she whispered, half-giggling. Sighing inwardly, Allelujah headed for the door.

As he closed it behind him, the two OSI suits stepped up.

"Um…the Princess desires privacy."

"Stand aside." One of the suits tried to step past, but Allelujah spread his arms, planting himself against the door.

"My son…" Allelujah forced himself to speak. "The Princess desires privacy that she might pray for the soul of our dear late Viceroy. It would not do for…"

"Out of the way please!" came the Princess' voice from behind. "Look out below!"

The two suits thrust their shoulders forward, knocking Allelujah backwards into the door, ripping it off its hinges. Allelujah staggered backwards into the suite, his chest a mass of pain, as the suits darted past, handguns drawn.

There was no one in the room. Only an open window, out of which was hanging a makeshift rope made out of a curtain.

The two suits turned their gazes on him. Allelujah could not see their eyes behind their dark glasses, but reckoned they were blazing.

"Uh…bless you my son…"

_**

* * *

**__**EUROFORCE base, Egypt, May 2017 ATB**_

Neil Dylandy was in hell.

It was a private, personal hell, which he alone inhabited. It was the hell of having failed. It was the hell of knowing that something terrible had happened _because_ he had failed.

His fellow Paladins had tried to console him, to assure him that he had done no wrong. Jacque had just sat with him for hours, not saying anything, just reminding him that he wasn't alone. It had helped, for the pain had eased as the days went by, but none of it had changed his conviction. None of them could convince him that it was not his fault.

For he had killed Emilio Ribisi.

In the end, it was Lieutenant Colasour who brought him out of it. His therapy had been to shove a piece of paper in his face and scream expletives. The piece of paper had been Neil's attempt to resign from the Paladin Corps. He had tried to hold up, to stick to his convictions, to convince the Lieutenant of his unworthiness, but to no avail. All he got was an earful about how he had done his duty, and how he had no business wallowing in self-pity when good men had died. In the end, Colasour had ripped up his resignation, and told him to either talk to Colonel Kujo, or be put on a charge for Conduct Unbecoming.

They knew. He was sure of it. They _knew_ how he felt about her. That was why the Lieutenant was making him face her.

It was this that had brought him, less than a week after the mission, to the corridor outside Colonel Kujo's office. He had been standing there for at least an hour, trying to find the courage to knock on the door. Then, after a strange notion that someone was watching him, he went ahead and knocked.

There was no reply. He knocked again, only for the door to slid open a crack. Forcing down his nerves, Neil stepped through the door.

"Excuse me Colonel…" He trailed off.

Colonel Kujo was seated at her desk, looking about half the woman she had been before. Her brown hair was a frizzy mess, and her eyes were in shadow. He got the distinct impression that she had been drinking.

The smell of liquor was a fairly strong indicator too.

"Colonel," he said, his voice quavering. "I…came to apologise."

"Apologise?" Leesa looked up, and he saw the dark circles under her eyes. "For what?"

"It's my fault Colonel." He _had_ to say it. It was the only way he could get through it all. "It's my fault that Paladin Ribisi died."

"No, Paladin Dylandy, it was not." Leesa's voice slurred slightly as she stood up. "It was my fault. My plan, my fault."

"No Colonel, the plan was perfect," Neil insisted. "I…I messed up, and Emilio died because of it." He realised too late that he had let Emilio's name slip out.

"Emilio?" To his surprise, she let out a rueful chuckle. "He said he loved me, did you know that?" She stepped around the desk, and it was all Neil could do not to run away. "He told me he loved me for who I am. Not many people ever said that."

"Colonel!" Neil wailed, fighting back tears. "I…"

"And you come in here and tell me you killed him?" she queried, a strange look on her face. "How, exactly?"

"I…" Neil forced down the lump in his throat. "There was…a grey _Gloucester_, with a very talented pilot. He was the one who defeated Hamid. I…I had a chance to kill him, but I missed." He gulped, tears pricking at his eyes. "And later, when I had a chance to kill the Princess, I blew it. I let some Britannian sneak up on me. If I had been quicker…"

"No, Paladin Dylandy," Leesa interrupted, her expression suddenly serious. "You did not screw up."

"But Colonel!" he wailed. "I held back! I held back from firing because I was afraid of hitting Emilio or Hamid!" His grief and frustration poured out of him. "If I had taken the shot…!"

"You might just as easily have killed Emilio," Leesa finished the sentence. Neil was stunned, and could not speak.

"Paladin, no, Neil," she said, her tone gentle. "What you said…was a very Britannian thing to say."

"It was?"

"Yes. Take the shot, try the last, if in doubt attack. That's Britannia's way. And it gets good soldiers killed."

"Yes…" Neil said. "It does."

"There's a reason why we do things differently in Europe, and in EUROFORCE," Leesa went on, stepping closer to him, and looking him in the eyes. "We don't fight to conquer, or to get ahead in life, or because we hate some people enough to kill them. We fight to defend our peoples, our countries, and our ways of life. We destroy life in order to protect life. That's the great paradox of what we do." She smiled.

"I believe in it Neil. Emilio believed in it…and he believed in you."

"Colonel?" Neil was taken aback.

"He told me all about you, before he headed out on the mission," Leesa said. "He said you were the best young knightmare pilot he'd ever seen, and that he was sure you would be worthy of the Paladin Corps."

"Colonel," Neil's voice was hoarse. "I'm _not_ worthy."

"Those who think themselves worthy," Leesa's smile widened a little, "are in truth the least worthy. So, how about dropping this act of blaming yourself?"

"Colonel…yes, Colonel."

"Good. Because I want to carry on." Then, Neil saw something else in her eyes, a flash of strength and resolve. "I'll grieve for Emilio, but I don't want his death to wreck my life, and neither would he. We have too much to do, you and I."

"What would you have me do, Colonel?"

"Will you carry on for me?" she asked, looking him straight in the eyes. "Will you do your duty, for Emilio, for Europe, and for yourself?"

"Yes!" Neil snapped, feeling his resolve return. "Yes Colonel!"

"How about calling me by my other name?" Leesa's eyes sparkled. "You can call me…Sumeragi."

_**

* * *

**__**Pendragon, Holy Empire of Britannia, May 2017 ATB**_

The hall was full to bursting.

Thousands upon thousands stood in serried ranks, all carefully selected for this particular honour. They stared up at the dais, upon which stood an enormous portrait of Prince Clovis la Britannia, surrounded with displays of white roses.

Either side of it, upon throne-like chairs set there for the occasion, sat various Imperial Princes and Princesses, who had felt the need to attend. Prince Oddyseus u Britannia had pride of place, with his younger brother Prince Schneizel next to him. Both wore expressions of appropriate melancholy, as did their other siblings.

The Imperial anthem boomed over the sound system, the lyrics belted out by a choir trained specially for the occasion. No one else sang. _All Hail Britannia_, for all its magnificence, was rather hard to sing.

_Truth and hope in our Fatherland! _

_And death to every foe! _

_Our soldiers shall not pause to rest _

_We vow our loyalty!_

"His Imperial Majesty, Charles zi Britannia, 98th Emperor of the Holy Empire of Britannia!"

The cameras zoomed in as the Emperor stepped up to the lectern, ready for his eulogy. He was, as ever, a magnificent sight, his white hair set into magisterial rolls, clad in a high-collared blue coat, with white breeches and black boots. Across the Empire, and the world, countless eyes stared at the screens, waiting to hear his words. What would this man, the mysterious Emperor, say? What would he have to say of his murdered son? No one knew, for Charles zi Britannia was truly a man of mystery. So mysterious was he, that some openly wondered if he even existed.

The Emperor took his place behind the lectern, gripping it with his wrists turned outward, his narrow eyes gazing across the hall.

"All men are not created equal!" A brief pause. "Some are born swifter of foot, some with greater beauty! Some are born into poverty, and others born sick and feeble! Both in birth and in upbringing, in sheer scope of ability! Every human is inherently different!"

In the Viceregal Headquarters, located at the centre of the Tokyo Settlement, Cornelia sat upon the Viceregal throne, watching the proceedings with equanimity. Her father always knew how to stir things up.

Standing behind her, Alexander stared at the face on the screen, a face he had not seen in eight years, and even then he had not seen it often. Indeed, it had only looked upon him once.

"_Yes! That is why people discriminate against one-another! Which is why there is struggle, competition, and the unfaltering march of progress! Inequality…is not wrong! Equality is!_"

"_Oh father_," Princess Euphemia thought sadly, sitting at her sister's side. "_Why must you say such cruel things?_"

Alexander noticed her melancholy, and found himself sharing in it.

"_What of the EU which made equality a right! Rabble politics by a popularity contest! The Chinese Federation with its equal distribution of wealth! A nation of lazy dullards!"_

"Filthy tyrant!" Louise hissed, clutching Saji's arm

"Louise," Saji gave her a sad smile, patting her hand. "It's all right."

"No it isn't!" she snapped, making some of those present turn to look. The officer's mess was packed with those who had come to watch the speech, motivated mostly by morbid curiosity. Passions were already starting to flare.

Louise _hated_ Britannia, _hated_ it for what it had done to her beloved Saji. She could never forget the day, at her family's home in Spain, where she had convinced him to spend the last week of the holidays. She could never forget the moment when that man, who had come all the way from the Japanese embassy in Madrid, told Saji that his family had been killed in the fighting.

"_But not our beloved Britannia! We fight! We compete! Our evolution is continuous! Britannia alone moves forward, advancing steadily into the future!"_

"_And that_," Neil thought, sitting melancholically to one side, "_is why the world is filled with suffering._"

"_How like him to say that,_" Hamid thought, amused, as he slouched against the rear wall. "_Well, he can believe it if he wants_."

"You lousy murderer!" someone yelled. Hamid looked up in surprise, then realised that the opprobrium was aimed at the Emperor.

"Get out of Japan!" yelled another. Soon the mess was filled with a cacophony of shouting and snarling. Paper cups bounced off the screen.

"Come on guys!" Patrick proclaimed, patting a nervous Jacque on the shoulder. "We're not scared of this old fossil are we!"

In the main hall of Ashford Academy, the students stood dutifully on ceremony, watching their Emperor make his speech.

"_Even the death of my son Clovis represents Britannia's unswerving commitment to progress!" _

"_Damn you_!" Lelouch Lamperouge's brow furrowed, his purple eyes flashing in rage. "_You never change! Damn you to hell!_"

Not far away was his friend, Shirley Fenette, looking up at the screen with worried eyes. She was not sure she cared for her Emperor's attitudes.

"_He might have said something nice at his son's funeral_" Milly Ashford thought sourly.

Near her stood Rivalz Cardemonde, a friend and occasional lackey, standing with his arms folded, trying not to laugh. Kallen Stadtfeld was also nearby, trying not to lose her temper. The rest of the assembled students watched with expressions running from apathy to resignation to outright fear.

Ashford Academy, it was said, was a somewhat _liberal_ school.

"_We will fight on! We shall struggle, compete, plunder, and dominate! And in the end, the future shall be ours! ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"_

"_ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"_

"_ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"_

"_ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"_

"_ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"_

"_ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"_

Not far away, in the Student Council building, a young woman with green hair at on a bed, watching the image of the Emperor raise his hand, fist clenched.

"So," she said, to no one in particular. "This is Lelouch's enemy."


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_**Tokyo Settlement HQ, Area 11, June 2017 ATB**_

The Viceregal Headquarters building of Tokyo Settlement, the administrative capital of Area 11, was an imposing sight.

It loomed over the artificial plateau that covered much of the old city of Tokyo, gleaming like polished silver. A broad oblong provided the base, reaching down to ground level, and connected to the rest of the settlement by road and monorail. The main keep extended up from the centre of the base, a square tower set into each corner, one long wall emblazoned with an enormous Britannian flag. It was a centre of government, a fortress, and a symbol of Britannia's unbending will to dominate.

Until a few weeks earlier, it had been the seat of Prince Clovis la Britannia, in his capacity as Viceroy of Area 11. Following his still-unexplained murder, the HQ, and his quarters, were now occupied by his older half-sister, Princess Cornelia li Britannia, also Marshal of the Empire.

And Cornelia knew which job she preferred.

Clovis might have been her brother, but his tenure as Viceroy had been as lackadaisical as it was uninspired. The administration was rotten with corruption, the ghettoes were in chaos, and the garrison was a shambles.

She had started with what she understood best, namely matters military. First up was a complete review of the Viceregal staff, which she had inherited upon arrival. Most of them appeared somewhat useful, and would thus have a chance to prove themselves. She had also disbanded Clovis' Foot Guards, transferring any likely-looking personnel into her own Guards and packing the rest off to Britannia. With her own administration in order, she was finally in a position to do something.

The further away from the HQ she went, however, the worse it got. Area 11 boasted 650,000 army personnel, to say nothing of the naval and air force personnel, yet only a minority of them were in any way useful. Officers had been promoted on favouritism rather than merit. Discipline was lax. Training and maintenance had been neglected. Valuable equipment had even gone _missing_, with no one seeming to know what had happened to it.

Cornelia knew perfectly well what had happened to it. She also knew why it had disappeared. Unlike many officers, she knew what happened when discipline was allowed to break down. She knew about their little schemes, their plots, the ways by which they enriched and enjoyed themselves while everything fell apart around them. She knew how they slouched and sneered, thinking themselves untouchable.

Not any more. Her investigation had dished enough dirt for her to dismiss most of the unwanted officers, though she had not been able to prosecute as many as she wished. Troublemakers in the ranks were getting with the program or getting arrested, the latter generally having enough misdemeanours in their files to warrant a spell in Fort Lothar. The threat, however, was generally enough.

She had still had to split them up, break up their networks, their little scams, their power-bases. Almost all of the new officers had arrived, the efficiency due in part to her status and part to the strategic importance of Area 11, and had been assigned. But her units were still _not_ units. They were not teams, not families. They had not gotten used to one-another, to working and fighting with one-another. Only time, and regular manoeuvres, would remedy that.

Thus of the 650,000 personnel, Cornelia currently had 50,000 effectives. Five divisions out of sixty-five. She had constructed those five divisions out of whatever usable units were available, leaving the rest to hold ground elsewhere while they worked up to full effectiveness. She had led them into battle herself, her campaign against the insurgents providing an invaluable opportunity to gain combat experience. Unlike the rest of the garrison, her five divisions were battle-hardened and bonded, ready for a serious fight.

And a fight they would have, very soon. For Zero had appeared once again, turning a hostage incident in the Kawaguchi Lake Convention Centre Hotel to debut his personal terrorist gang, the so-called Order of the Black Knights. All she got that the end was a wrecked hotel, several terrorist corpses, airwaves packed with propaganda, and the hostages alive and well.

It was the latter that made it acceptable, for her sister Euphemia had been among them.

Cornelia sat straight in her chair, looking straight at the assembled men on the other side of her desk. General Andreas Darlton, Captain the Lord Gilbert G. P. Guilford, and Lieutenant Sir Alexander Waldstein, looked expectantly back at her.

Without those three men, and a few others, she would not have achieved as much as she had, at least not so quickly. Darlton had been particularly helpful, combining sufficient rank, prestige, and sheer force of personality to make the garrison personnel sit up and take notice. She regarded his scarred face with warmth, seeing the man who had for so long been a father to her, but others regarded it with awe, or else with fear. No one had dared to give _him_ any trouble. Few had dared deny Guilford, the legendary _Spearhead of the Empire_, either. The young Sir Alexander, by contrast, had none of those three advantages. For all his diligence and obvious talent, he was still relatively young, lacking the prestige associated with Darlton and Guilford. It would come in time, she was certain, but for the moment he was little more than an equerry. If he felt slighted, he did not show it.

The intercom buzzed, and she reached to respond.

"Yes?"

"A Major Aker to see you, your Highness."

"Send him in."

"Yes your Highness." A few moments later, the door opened.

"Ah, _Major_ Aker," Cornelia gave a thin smile as Graham Aker strode in. He was clad in the high-collared uniform of an officer in the Royal Panzer Infantry, coloured the same shade of blue as the Imperial flag. Upon his right shoulder was emblazoned a spread-winged hawk in gold, the emblem of the Aerial Drop Knightmare Corps, one of the RPI's most prestigious units. His black boots shone, and his white gloves gleamed. But that was nought to the gleam in his eyes.

The gleam of pride.

"Your Highness!" Graham snapped to attention and saluted.

"Major Aker," Cornelia stepped around her desk to stand before him. "I called you here, firstly, to congratulate you before your former comrades." She held out a gloved hand. Graham took it, bowing his head respectfully.

"If it weren't for you, your Highness, I couldn't have done it." His words were heartfelt, sincere. "It was only because you chose me for your Guards."

"Then I can say I chose well," Cornelia replied fulsomely. She stepped back, allowing Darlton to step forward and shake Graham's hand. Guilford did likewise, as did Alexander.

"Secondly," she went on, having returned to her seat. "Since you're here, I may as well give you this." She picked up a dossier and handed it to him. "Your orders, for the operation next week."

"Yes, your Highness." Graham smirked as he took the dossier. "Does this mean we'll be attacking the enemy directly?"

"It will." Cornelia sat straight in her chair. "Our friends in Intelligence have come up with the location of a major JLF facility in the Narita mountains. I want to take the place intact and wring as much information out of it as possible, so I can't afford to wait more than a few days. I'll need the services of the ADKC to help establish an outer perimeter, as outlined in your orders."

"Understood, your Highness," Graham made a proud salute. "We fall like lightning from the sky at your command!"

"Very good, Major Aker. That will be all." With that, Graham snapped his heels together, bowed his head, and left the office.

"If his head gets any bigger," Darlton quipped, "it'll need its own knightmare frame."

"Quite," Cornelia allowed Darlton a smirk. "In the meantime, there's a matter I want to discuss with you, Sir Alexander."

"Yes, your Highness?"

"Sir Alexander," she paused a moment. "You are, beyond any doubt, a most diligent and devoted officer, a credit to the service, to your class, and to your name."

"Thank you, your Highness," Alexander replied, visibly unsettled by the flattery. Cornelia sighed.

"Unfortunately, you seem to have trouble with the more…_delicate_ aspects."

"Your Highness?"

"This morning," Cornelia went on, "I received a communication from Lady Beauregarde, complaining about your failure to show up at her soiree last night."

"But…" Alexander was caught off guard, and his face showed it. "I informed her ladyship beforehand that I was unable to attend on account of my duties."

"I know you did," Cornelia replied. "Unfortunately the call of duty did not prevent several of your fellow officers from turning up." She fixed Alexander with a steady gaze. "What conclusion, Alexander, was she supposed to draw from that?"

"She must have taken it as a slight, your Highness."

"A reasonable answer, but incorrect. Her complaint, Alexander, was against me, not you."

"Your Highness?" Alexander was bewildered. Darlton barely suppressed a snigger.

"Her ladyship," Cornelia's gaze was withering, "is under the impression that I am keeping you locked up in here after-hours. She _apparently_ drew this conclusion after finding out that you haven't attended _any_ events since arriving."

"Your Highness," Alexander bowed his head. "I apologise if I have embarrassed you."

"I'm not embarrassed, Alexander," Cornelia allowed him a little reassurance. "But this is a symptom of a deeper problem. You've been very antisocial since we got here, Alexander, and don't tell me you can't spare the time."

"Please forgive me, your Highness." Cornelia could have sworn that her young knight was _blushing_. "It's a question of…"

"Alexander," Cornelia was trying to patient, but she had no intention of wasting time over such matters. "I know the…_incident_ at Grand Duchess Idaho's ball was a tad traumatic," she ignored the sniggers from Darlton, "but that's no reason to hide yourself away."

"Yes, your Highness." Alexander looked cowed. "I don't want to cause offence, but I would prefer to avoid such incidents."

"Let me guess," Cornelia mused. "You have another invitation. Who is it from?" Alexander paused, _definitely_ blushing.

"The Ashfords, your Highness."

"Oh, the Ashfords." This time, it was all Cornelia could do not to burst out laughing. "What exactly are they inviting you to?"

"It's some sort of event being thrown by their daughter, Miss Millicent Ashford," Alexander replied. "I understand that her parents have been…_soliciting_ on her behalf."

"Then you should go!" Darlton proclaimed cheerfully. "You'll never find a wife that easily ever again!"

"I'm…I'm really not looking for a wife," Alexander protested, mortified.

"You _are_ a bit young for that," Cornelia commented. "All the same, you must go to her beforehand and turn her down in person. What's more," her eyes sparkled, "we have the perfect pretext." She reached for the intercom.

"Your Highness?"

"Is Rai still waiting?"

"Yes, your Highness."

"Send him in, if you please."

"Yes, your Highness."

An few moments later, the door opened to admit a teenage boy, younger than Alexander, with silver hair and bright blue eyes. He wore a uniform Alexander hadn't seen before, consisting of a high-collared black and gold tunic and black pants. He was also carrying a school satchel, of all things.

"Ah, Rai," Cornelia acknowledged the boy as he stepped up to the desk and bowed his head. "There's someone here you need to meet." She gestured at Alexander. "This is Lieutenant Sir Alexander Waldstein of my Guards. I understand Nonette sent you to learn from him."

"Yes, your Highness." Rai turned to face Alexander, lowering his head in respect. "Sir Alexander, it's an honour to meet you." Rai's face reddened as Alexander held out a welcoming hand, though he kept the glove on so as not to be _too_ familiar.

"I'm flattered, Rai" he replied as the boy shook his hand. "You give no second name. Are you a foundling?"

"Yes, Sir Alexander." Rai's smile faltered, and Alexander regretted bringing it up. Britannian law and society was based heavily on the hereditary principle, and surnames were not exempt. Whereas an orphan, in Britannian parlance, was part of a known family and as such had status, a foundling was not. They were marked by their lack of surnames, existing primarily to be exploited. The only way to get a surname was to get adopted, which was not unknown, or else to get married.

"Don't worry," he said, smiling. "It is of no consequence."

"Oh," Rai perked with relief. "Thank you, Sir Alexander."

"I called in Rai," Cornelia interjected, drawing their attention, "because it just so happens that he attends Ashford Academy. Is that not right?"

"Yes, your Highness," Rai replied smartly.

"Sir Alexander has some business with Miss Ashford," Cornelia explained. "Would care to show him the way, Rai?"

"Of course, your Highness."

_**

* * *

**__**Somewhere in the EU, June 2017 ATB**_

The chamber was dark, except for a single light shining from the ceiling. The effect was of a pillar of light, surrounded by a void, in which he stood alone.

Hamid was not intimidated. He knew who had summoned him to that place, and why. If they wanted to engage in pseudo-masonic theatrics, that was their prerogative.

Another light appeared, this one directly in front of him. It revealed a very long desk, behind which was seated an oblong-faced man with short black hair. He sat with his elbows on the desk, fingers intertwined under his nose. The light reflected off his glasses, hiding his eyes. Hamid knew who he was.

Everyone in EUROSEC knew who Mr Hernandez was.

"Mr Hamid," he said. "So good of you to come."

"If the Directors of EUROSEC request my presence," Hamid replied airily, "I can hardly refuse."

"Quite." If Hernandez was irritated by Hamid's attitude, he made no indication of it. "Andrei Velichko's reports on your work for us have been, to say the least, glowing. As such, you have been selected for a task of the utmost importance."

"I see," Hamid grinned. "Does this task by any chance involve Japan?"

"You would be correct," said a german-accented voice from his left. Hamid looked to see the red, black, and gold flag of the German Confederation set into the wall, illuminated from behind. On it was a black eagle, the emblem of the _Bundesnachrichtendienst_, the Confederation's foreign intelligence service and a founding member of EUROSEC.

"Since taking control of Japan seven years ago," said a new voice, as the German flag winked out and a French _tricolour_ lit up a little way along the wall, "the Britannians have kept up the supply of sakuradite. This state of affairs is not expected to last much longer."

"Britannia has engaged in violent expansion in Africa, seriously threatening the Union's security." This new flag was consisted of a red cross and red and white saltires on a blue field, the flag of the Kingdom of Great Britain. Emblazoned upon it was the letters S.I.S. "We can no longer afford to trust in Britannia's restraint. Japan must be removed from their control as soon as possible."

"The purpose of your mission," the red, white, and blue flag of the Russian Federation appeared next, the sword-and-shield emblem of the _Federal'naya sluzhba bezopasnosti Rossiyskoy Federatsii_ superimposed on it, "will be to gather all available information on the Japanese resistance groups, and then to evaluate their overall effectiveness. Your past experience with such groups makes you ideal."

"I see." Hamid's smile widened. "Any in particular I should keep an eye out for?"

"Two of them," the British Director spoke up. "First is the Japanese Liberation Front. We believe they're operating out of a base in the Narita Mountains. They're one of the largest groups, made up primarily of ex-military officers and personnel, and probably the most heavily armed."

"Uh-huh," Hamid took it all in. "And the other?"

"The other is a relative newcomer," the SIS Director went on. "The Order of the Black Knights."

"Ah yes. That Zero character's group?"

"Indeed. They're smaller than the JLF for now but growing rapidly according to our sources. This Zero seems to have a knack for getting people to work together."

"Of course." Hamid smirked. "And what else can your…_sources_ tell me about Zero?"

"Our analysts have concluded that he is almost certainly _not_ Japanese," the German Director cut in. "He displays few to none of the usual cultural and social biases and predilections."

"Let me guess," Hamid quipped, "he's even recruiting the _Burakumin_."

None laughed. There was only silence.

"Funny you should say that," the German Director replied.

"His behaviour in the recent Kawaguchi incident implies an unorthodox approach," the French Director cut in. "He not only appears unwilling to work with the JLF, but he actually killed those of their members involved. The JLF is unlikely to take that lying down, even if they _were_ renegades."

"_Good for you,_" Hamid thought. "_You didn't believe that suicide nonsense either._"

"Well," he said. "I can do all that for you. But I'll need a few things." Silence.

"What, precisely?" It was the British Director.

"If you want these groups to cooperate, you'll need to give them something first," Hamid explained. "Something to show good faith. In my experience they never turn down money, so I'll need a line of credit. To the value of," he paused, calculating in his head, "one billion Euros."

"You are suggesting we give money to insurgents," the French Director interjected, a hint of threat in his tone.

"People," Hamid sighed, "I know this isn't your usual policy, and I understand why. But if you want either the JLF or the Black Knights to cooperate, you're going to have to give them something up front. This is especially true," he smirked "if you want to lure either of them away from the Six Houses of Kyoto."

Silence.

"We can manage your line of credit, at least as a one-off," the German Director replied, changing the subject. "But you will have to show results, or the Oversight Committee will start interfering."

"Don't they always," Hamid quipped. "They'll also respond well to technical assistance. Obviously taking weapons is impracticable at this stage, so I'll need personnel instead."

"What personnel?"

"I'll need at least one Tactical Coordinator, to pass on expertise and to rate their own capabilities. I'll also need technical experts to rate their weaponry, and some decent knightmare pilots, Paladins preferably. Also, I pick my own team."

Another pause.

"Very well" the French Director replied. "You shall have the resources you need. Please submit your personnel list to us as soon as you are ready."

"I will." Hamid inclined his head in a minimal show of respect. "Thank you, Directors."

Hamid heard a clunk behind him. He turned to see another light illuminating the door through which he had entered. Taking the hint, he opened it, and walked out.

For a time, the chamber was silent.

"That man," the Russian Director sighed, "knows altogether too much."

"What he knows is hardly compromising," the British Director retorted. "It was nothing more than educated guesswork. He is certainly more than capable of carrying out this mission."

"He's undoubtedly useful," GERDIR agreed. "But can he be trusted?"

"His Psych Evaluation rates him as essentially amoral," Hernandez replied. "Whether this is due to his conscience being underdeveloped or nonexistent is impossible to tell."

"And we will tell," RUSDIR interjected, "if and when he finally flies off the handle."

"He's not going to just snap and kill someone," BRITDIR scoffed. "He would have done so by now."

"If the Directors will forgive me," Hernandez spoke up, "that is _precisely_ why I recommended him. If he survives, he will have proven his usefulness once again. If he dies, we have lost a valuable operative _and_ a potential problem. Either way, we win."

The room went dark.

_**

* * *

**__**Tokyo Settlement, Area 11, 2017 ATB**_

"Have you been here long, Rai?" Alexander asked as he and Rai strolled through the main gates of Ashford Academy.

"Only since I arrived," Rai replied cheerfully. "Earl Ashford was kind enough to take me on at short notice. Do you know the family, Sir Alexander?"

"Not personally," Alexander replied. "I only knew them through my Lady Marianne." A touch of melancholy lurked at the edge of his mind. But it soon faded as he and Rai strolled up the front entrance path.

They must have made quite an odd sight to anyone who happened to be watching. Young, silver-haired Rai in a school uniform, and the older Alexander, clad in the maroon and gold coat of the Royal Knightmare Guards. But Alexander paid it no mind. He found that he liked Rai. He liked the younger boy's honesty and manners, and was more than a little touched by his enthusiasm. Friendship was blossoming between them.

The main building before him was elegantly fashioned, putting him in mind of a noble's estate. Four more paths spread out from the entrance towards the building, extending across a wide, well-kept lawn lined with two rows of fir trees. On his right was a much thicker row of trees, while to his left was a sand-covered area, which he assumed was for sports. The main path was itself lined with a series of lamp posts, leaning over the path like ceremonial arches.

Alexander wasn't sure, but there was something about Ashford Academy, even as he walked through the gate, that endeared itself to him. It was, so he thought, a _pleasant_ place.

"Sir Alexander, can I ask a small favour?"

"Of course." They turned right, heading across the front of the main building, past a side wing. The path, line with fir trees, led to a bridge across an ornamental stream. Alexander could see another building at the end of the path, consisting of three wings spreading out from back to front.

"Miss Ashford likes to catch people off-guard," Rai explained, with an air of what might have been irritation. "I was hoping I could catch her for once."

"Go on."

"This is the Student Council building up ahead," Rai gestured at the building at the head of the path. "That's where she and the council will be. I was thinking that if you wait outside while I lure them down into the hallway, you could make a big entrance and catch them all by surprise."

"A big entrance?" Alexander mused. The idea of embarrassing Milly Ashford actually sounded fun, and would probably suit his own purpose too. "I think I can handle it."

"Thank you, Sir Alexander." There was genuine gratitude in Rai's blue eyes. All at once they had reached the council building.

"Okay, Sir Alexander, would you wait here?" Rai asked. "I'll bring them down and then you can make your entrance."

"Very well." Alexander watched him hurry inside, feeling a rare tingle of mischief. He was in no hurry, for the weather was quite clement, and he found he was content just to look around, taking the place in. He wondered if Miss Ashford would consent to give him a tour.

All in all, Ashford Academy didn't seem half so bad as the rumours made out.

His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of faint voices coming from above. Alexander looked around, but could not see from whence they came. The voices grew louder, until it was plain that they were from the first floor of the Council building in front of him. He wondered for a moment if his arrival had caused a commotion.

"Look out below!" Alexander's head snapped at the yell from above him.

And time seemed to slow down.

Something was falling towards him from a first floor window. It was slim and purple, with a mass of white skirts billowing around it. He made out a face, pale with terror, framed in locks of shining ebony. It was a face he had seen before.

"_Lady…Marianne_…_?_"

Instinct braced his legs and held out his arms, just in time for the maiden to drop into them. His arms jarred at the impact, then as she settled he was able to look straight at her.

And he was entranced.

It was not Lady Marianne. This…_vision_ looked like her, but was different, in so many wondrous subtleties. Her hair was the same, an ebony black that gleamed in the sunlight, with white ribbons tied into it on either side. Her eyes were reminiscent, a other-worldly purple, sparkling in what might have been recognition. Her face was finely sculpted, her chin tapering delicately beneath full, skilfully painted lips. There was only a little mascara on her long eyelashes, only a dusting of powder on her high cheeks, her eyes shadowed in subtle shades. Her hair curled around her face and hung in long bangs over her brow. Her gown was purple, the sleeves reaching to the elbows, fringed with white frills and lace, a billowing white cravat modestly covering her bosom. White gloves covered her slender, long-fingered hands.

Here was a lady who rivalled Princess Euphemia in her beauty. And she was in his arms.

Alexander was dumbstruck. The girl, for her part, only stared at him in turn. But it was she who recovered first, turning her head side on and raising a hand to her mouth.

"Please help me." Her voice was soft and full of fear. "They're after me."

"Who?" Alexander found his voice. Horror ran through him at the very idea that someone would want to harm the delicate creature in his arms.

"The Student Council." She looked close to tears. "They want me to do…such immodest things."

"You can't escape from your destiny Luluko!" came a high-pitched voice from the window.

"Luluko?" Alexander said in wonderment. "You are…Miss Luluko?"

"Hey Luluko!" A head poked itself out of the window. "Did you…!" The voice paused as Alexander looked up. It was a boy, with red hair hanging past his chin, a white headband around his crown. He stared at Alexander in puzzlement for a moment.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Aren't you…!"

"Run!" Luluko's voice distorted as she yelled, throwing her arms around his neck. "Run! We have to get away!" Without a second thought, Alexander turned on his heel and ran, bearing the maiden away along the path, ignoring the shouting behind him. Once he was out of sight of the Council building, he halted to take stock.

"Miss Luluko, what on Earth's going on?"

"Sir Alexander!" Luluko pleaded. "I'm so sorry you got caught up in this, but you're my only hope!"

"Everyone! An emergency announcement!" proclaimed a female voice over the Public Address system, the same on he had heard before. "Big news! Britannia's number one eligible bachelor, Sir Alexander Waldstein, is on campus _right now_!"

As the words reverberated across the campus, the various screens shimmered to life. Alexander's breath caught in his throat as he saw himself on the screens, wearing only a pair of bathing trunks, sunlight rippling over his toned physique, gazing soulfully into an open sky. His mind boggled as he tried to figure out when the picture had been taken, and _how_.

"What's more, he's come looking for love!" the voice went on. "He's whisking away our beloved Luluko!" Another image superimposed itself over the photo. It was a live video image, showing himself carrying Luluko, but from a different angle. Alexander looked, and found himself staring straight into the lens of a security camera.

It suddenly occurred to him, there and then, that he hadn't seen anyone else apart from Rai since he walked through the gate.

"The one who brings these two love-birds to me will win budget priority for his or her club!" The voice was evidently enjoying itself. "What's more, in a one-off private event, our lucky winner will get to watch them make out…_all…the…way_!"

"Run!" Luluko hissed at the frozen Alexander, her voice barely audible over the shrieking laughter coming from the PA. A cacophony of high-pitched shrieks and whoops erupted from the nearby buildings. Alexander snapped back to reality as he saw doors and windows opening. He broke into a run as young men and women flooded out, yelling and shrieking.

"Don't let them get away!"

"Bring out the horses!"

"We need that money!"

"Close all gates!" came the voice over the PA again. "They're trying to make a run for it!"

Alexander spurred himself on, his booted feet pounding on the flagstones. He could almost feel the horde behind him as he turned onto a path leading to one of the side gates, Luluko still in his arms. He ran, the gate coming closer and closer.

Then, just as sanctuary seemed near, the gate began sliding shut. Alexander growled in frustration as more students ran to block his path. It was then that he noticed something very odd about them. It was not so much their bizarre array of costumes, which ran from musketeers to maids. He could not help but notice how _sturdy _some of the girls were. The group of ballerinas advancing upon him were built like rugby players, whereas the soccer team were slender and delicate, their long hair tied back in pony tails.

"Quick!" Luluko ordered. "Turn left and keep running!" Alexander obeyed, making a quick left turn and running off, dodging the oncoming students.

"Head through the trees" Luluko hissed. "Then turn left!" Alexander obeyed, darting nimbly through the line of trees running parallel to the front path. He turned left, heading up another path in the general direction of the main building. He glanced behind to see the students still hot on his heels, despite some getting their outfits caught on the trees. They were shrieking and laughing, as if they were on a hunt.

"Sir Alexander! You're my hero!"

"Sir Alexander! Look this way!"  
"Drop that skank and marry me instead!"

"Sir Alexander! Make me your bride!"

"Make us _all_ your brides!"

Alexander was shocked, and more than a little afraid. The school was obviously a hive of maniacs. But what was a young lady such as the one in his arms doing in such a place?

"Turn left here!" Luluko ordered, taking one hand from his neck to point the way. "Cross the bridge and turn right!" Alexander obeyed, rounding the corner at a dead run. Sure enough he saw the ornamental stream, but even as he ran for the bridge, he saw yet more students swarming out of the windows to his right, the shrieking horde growing ever larger. He raced across, turned right at a command from Luluko, sprinting away along the path. He glanced backwards, noting with satisfaction that the river was delaying his pursuers, the crazed students turning the bridge into a bottleneck or else struggling across the stream. He rounded a corner, pausing to take stock.

"I think we've lost them," he said.

"We should keep going," Luluko insisted, glancing around. "It won't be long before…"

She paused and Alexander heard a clattering sound from up ahead. He looked, and nearly started in panic as a pack of horses came galloping around the corner up ahead. The girls on their backs rode like men, thick legs visible between riding boots and billowing skirts, whooping and cheering as they came on.

Were all the girls at Ashford Academy so…_un-ladylike_?

"That way!" Luluko pointed down a narrow alley. Alexander darted down it, the horses thundering behind him. He edged down the alley, careful not to bash his precious burden against the walls, before emerging into a square courtyard surrounded by arched galleries.

Alexander paused a moment, breathing heavily, looking up and around. He saw ropes extending from the first floor windows and strung across the gap, supporting a wide tarpaulin that covered one whole side of the courtyard. He guessed that some sort of renovation was taking place, and that the tarpaulin was intended to provide protection from the weather.

Behind him, he heard what sounded like a confused melee, people screaming and shouting, the whinnying of horses. Evidently the two mobs of pursuing students had collided, and were in the process of extricating themselves.

So preoccupied was he with his pursuers, and such was the noise they made, that he did not notice the person hiding in the galleries, the person he had seen only minutes before though only for a second. A young woman with red hair and bright blue eyes, clad in the costume of a stereotypical Japanese juvenile delinquent. Like the others, the object of her attention was Alexander Waldstein, but not for the same reason.

Kallen Kozuki pulled a small pink pouch from her pocket, squeezing her pouch to extend the knife concealed within. This was the best chance she was likely to get. Here, alone, with only one witness.

She managed not to laugh when she saw the person he was carrying like a damsel in distress. Were it not for her intent, she would have found the sight utterly hilarious. Under the circumstances, that person's presence was a complication.

"_Sorry Luluko,_" she thought. "_It's nothing personal, but I've got to get that guy!_"

Alexander turned, showing Kallen his back. She moved, tip-toeing out of the gallery, across the shadowed flagstones, knife held low, straight for her target. She felt her heart beat faster as the distance closed. Her knife arm tensed…

Alexander spun at the strange crumpling sound, just in time to see the tarpaulin fall. Something writhed and struggled under it, shrieking curses in a language he had never heard.

"_Ikkenai_! _Chikusho_! _Kuso_!"

"All for one!" called many voices in unison. The voices were high-pitched, like those of girls or prepubescent boys. Alexander saw more students, boys this time, standing in the open windows of the first floor. They were dressed as Musketeers, and Alexander could see their soft, round features.

Were all the boys at Ashford Academy so…_beautiful_?

"And one for all!" The boys grabbed at ropes and leapt, swinging down into the courtyard. Luluko gave a cry of fear, and Alexander broke into a run, dodging between the boys as they swung in.

High-pitched screams rang out as the latter-day Musketeers crashed into one-another, their ropes tangling together, falling to land in a heap on the unfortunate still struggling under the tarpaulin.

"Quickly!" Luluko enthused. "That way!" She pointed through an open door opposite the alley. Alexander ducked through, hurried down a narrow corridor, and out into the sunlight again.

"Over there!" Luluko pointed at towards a large, modern-looking structure standing on its own. "The pool! We can escape through there!" Alexander complied, dashing across the open space towards the building. He felt a sudden thrill of confidence as he heard no pursuit, no screaming voices, no running footsteps. Had they made it?

One of the side doors had been conveniently left open. Alexander darted through, emerging into the pool itself. It was Olympic-sized, with a tall diving tower reaching almost to the vaulted ceiling, the floors fashioned from gleaming marble.

Alexander hurried up a set of stairs, pausing at the top, next to the catwalk leading to the diving tower. Before him was a set of sliding glass doors, leading to another part of the building. Breathing heavily, he set Luluko down.

"Forgive me, Miss Luluko," he tried not to wheeze. "I must rest a moment."

"Of course." Her voice was gentle now. "I'm... so very grateful."

"Think nothing of it, my Lady." Alexander felt his face break into a smile as he looked upon her. With her gloved hands held so bashfully under her chin, and her black hair spilling around her shoulders, Luluko was a vision of sweetness. He found himself wondering once again what such a pure, delicate maiden was doing in such a place.

He was also wondering what feelings they were that flooded through him as he gazed upon her. What was this beauty that he saw in her? What was this grace?

Was this love?

"Oh, Sir Alexander." Her voice was dulcet music. "I was so excited when Rai told me that you were coming to Area 11. You have always been my favourite knight." She turned her head away just a little.

"You flatter me, Miss Luluko." Alexander felt his cheeks heat up. She was so…

"I never would have dreamed," Luluko went on, "that you would come to rescue me. I could never have hoped that you would save me…from them."

"Fear not, sweet lady!" Overcome by a wondrous exultation, Alexander clasped both her hands in his. "You shall not suffer this den of lunatics a moment longer!"

"Oh," Luluko turned her head away, as if frightened. "Sir Alexander…"

"I shall take you away from all this!" Alexander proclaimed. He could not stop himself, and didn't even want to. "From now on you shall live under the protection of her Imperial Highness, Princess Cornelia li Britannia!" A look of horror flashed across Luluko's doll-like face, but Alexander did not register it. "Thence I shall protect you always!"

"That I cannot allow!" Alexander's exultation evaporated at the sound. He looked up to see a young girl of about Luluko's age standing in front of the glass doors. She stood with legs apart, hands on hips, wearing what appeared to be an old-fashioned sailor suit. The blouse was white and long-sleeved, the collar orange, and neckerchief green. The immodestly-short pleated skirt was orange in the same shade, barely reaching her thighs. An orange headband held her brown hair back from her face, which was as smooth and youthful as Luluko's own, but slightly darker in tone and somewhat different in shape. Alexander suspected that she was a native.

"Stand away, maiden!" It occurred to Alexander that he was talking like some movie interpretation of one of King Arthur's knights, but he was too caught up in the idiom to care. "Do not seek to bar my path!"

"You won't take Luluko away from here!" The girl's green eyes flashed with determination. She was evidently not intimidated. "I won't let you!"

"You would fight me?" Alexander demanded, his desire to protect Luluko mingling with a sudden curiosity. "Are you…one of those sailor-suited heroines we've been hearing about?"

"Uh…yes!" The girl looked momentarily flustered. "I…" she brought her right hand up and drew it across her forehead "am the pretty fighter in a sailor suit! Sailor Suzako!" Alexander stared in mild astonishment as the girl turned her body sideways, bringing her arms up and around in a series of complex manoeuvres. "On behalf of…Ashford Academy," she turned her head to face him, pointing her left arm to the side and holding her right hand over it, as though bracing a gun, accusing finger pointed straight at him. "I will punish you!"

There was a pause.

"S…Suzako!" Luluko's face was a picture of embarrassment. "How immodest!"

"Now!" Suzako demanded. "You will tell me your name!"

"I am Lieutenant Sir Alexander Bismarck Waldstein, Viscount San Clemente!" Alexander roared back, family pride rising to steel his heart. "Of her Imperial Highness Princess Cornelia's Regiment of Knightmare Guards!" Lost in the moment, he struck a heroic pose. "This lady I do defend!"

"I see." Suzako sounded almost sad. "Unfortunate." She crouched and sprinted towards him, closing the gap in the space of an instant. Luluko gave a cry as Suzako leapt into the air, spinning her body as she ascended. As she reached her apogee, she stuck out both her legs, falling into a corkscrewing spin-kick that threatened to take his head off.

Alexander did not think. There was no time to think. He merely _did._

He leapt, aiming himself at her like a missile. Like her he rotated, but instead he thrust out his arms, unable to use his legs. Hero and heroine passed in mid air, arms and legs connecting like cogs in a machine. As his opening came, Alexander brought one arm around in a lariat strike, catching Suzako in the back. He felt himself falling away, and saw Suzaku fly on, carried by her own momentum and the force of his blow. She sailed past the diving tower, over the Number 2 board, out over the rippling blue of the pool.

Alexander felt his legs jar as he landed. He heard a long, drawn-out scream, followed by an almighty splash.

"Sir Alexander…" Luluko gazed at him in wonderment.

"Ho ho ho!" Alexander turned again to see that yet more people had come through the glass doors. This time it was a slender youth with long blond hair, clad in a blue and gold vest with tight white britches and a pair of thigh-length flared boots. Upon his head was a wide-brimmed hat, complete with two feathers, and a sword hung at his waist. A short red cloak was fastened to his left shoulder, and as he struck a pose it hung to good effect. Behind him was a boy and a girl, also in costume. The boy, bespectacled and rather mousy-looking, was dressed in a tweed jacket and shorts, with a cloth cap on his head, from under which hung, of all things, a pair of pigtails.

The girl was probably the ugliest creature he had seen all day. She wore a stylized pink maid outfit, tied in an enormous bow at the back, the skirt so short as to reveal her stockings and suspenders, covering a pair of legs better-suited to a beast of burden. Her face was masculine in its form, covered in thick, garish makeup, crowned with blue hair inexpertly fashioned like spread wings. A pair of enormous, distended breasts bulged over her bodice. Alexander felt a shiver run through him as she returned his gaze. He could not shake the feeling that she was giving him _the eye._

"Luluko, you silly girl!" the blond youth proclaimed with a theatrical sweep of his white-gloved hand. "Look at the trouble you've caused!"

"Luluko you hussy!" screeched the maid, in a voice that made Alexander's ears hurt. "Not only have you seduced three boys at once, but you've lured one in from the street! Do you like men that much!"

"Leave me alone!" Luluko protested, hiding behind Alexander. "You're always making up lies about me! You don't care a wit for my feelings!"

"Villains!" Alexander heart swelled with courage. "You shall not have this lady!"

"Ho ho ho!" the youth exclaimed, evidently enjoying himself. "You're quite the…!"

"Wait!" Alexander glanced to the youth's side as another boy ran through the glass doors. This one had auburn hair down to his waist, wore an old-fashioned police uniform, and was evidently in a state of panic. "There's been a terrible misunderstanding!"

Alexander blinked in surprise at the boy's high-pitched, almost girlish voice. His surprise turned to anger as he saw that the boy was dragging a girl behind him on a leash. As the girl staggered uncertainly into the light, Alexander froze.

The girl had silver hair, crowned with a pair of fake cat ears and a maid's frilly headband. The leash was attached to a black leather collar around her neck, and her slim body was encased in a stylized powder-blue maid outfit, the frilly white apron tied in an even bigger bow at the back. The sleeves were short and puffed, the skirt held up by frilly white petticoats, revealing white panties, exposed thighs and long white stockings, held up by blue garters. An articulated tail extended up from the girl's posterior, to which a bell was tied with a blue ribbon. The girl stood unsteadily on black Mary Janes, her mouth clogged by a ball-gag, her hands tied together in front, covered by cat-paw gloves, her blue eyes staring in mortification at Alexander, cheeks reddening adorably.

Alexander felt his stomach turn cold as he examined the girl. That silver hair, those blue eyes…

"R…Rai?"

"Sir Alexander!" The feline maid finally got her hands free, ripping the ball-gag from her mouth. "Get out of here! It's a trap!"

"Rai!" Alexander spluttered, paralysed with shock. "What are you…why are you…!"

Then it hit him.

He looked at the blond and auburn-haired youths, saw the lines of their throats, in their delicate features, their shapely figures.

"You are…"

"Yes!" the blond youth proclaimed. He reached behind his back and started easing something under his blue vest. Whatever it was came free, and his chest suddenly expanded outwards. "We're girls!"

"And you are…" Alexander turned to the pink maid, and to a soaking wet Sailor Suzako, who had just come up the stairs.

"Yep!" the erstwhile heroine admitted, massaging the back of his head. "I'm a guy. Sorry about that!"

"But then…" He didn't want to look. He didn't want to face the horrible truth. But some inner force turned Alexander's head to look at Luluko.

Sweet Luluko. Innocent Luluko. Looking at him through such wide, frightened eyes.

"Don't listen to them!" she protested. "They're trying to confuse you!"

"You're the one who's confused, Lelouch!" called the pink maid, whose voice sounded much better in the masculine mode.

"No Sir Alexander!" Luluko wailed. "I'm a _real_ girl!"

"Lulu!" the auburn-haired girl, who was in the process of releasing her own bust, now looked very worried. "No! Not like my class tutor!"

"I…I won't believe it!" Alexander protested. "You can't be a man! It's not possible!"

"Come Lelouch!" proclaimed the blonde girl, striding up to the terrified Luluko. "Let us end this cruel deception!" The girl grabbed at Luluko's hair and pulled, Alexander staring in disbelief as the ebony locks came away. The hair underneath was of the same colour, but cut much shorter in the same style as Rai's own.

"Oh for the…!" the boy snapped, outraged and embarrassed.

"You…" Alexander's face turned ashen as the illusion was dispelled. He backed away, legs wobbling, his head suddenly light. "You…"

His breath caught in his throat. His vision blurred, and his legs gave way.

And there was darkness.

_**

* * *

**__**EUROFORCE HQ, Vienna, EU, 2017 ATB**_

Lieutenant Patrick Colasour was in fine spirits.

There was to be a mission. A very important mission. And he, the Ace of the EU, had been chosen for it.

All right, he had to leave a particularly delightful young conquest hanging, but it was nothing he couldn't make up later. This was a chance for glory.

So he thought as he strode along the corridor. As he reached the meeting room, the door slid open, as if to welcome him.

"Patrick Colasour!" he proclaimed, stepping over the threshold. "Ace of the EU, is…!"

A fist caught him on the chin, dropping him to one knee. For a moment his mind was blank with shock, until he looked up to see a woman standing in front of him, looking at him in undisguised contempt.

"Lieutenant," she said, in a deep voice. "You're late."

"Damn you woman!" he shrieked. "Hitting a man in the f…!" He yelled as the woman struck him again, knocking him to his knees.

"You…you did it again!" he spluttered, clutching his aching face. He looked up at her in horrified disbelief, unaccustomed to being so mistreated by the fairer sex.

"I am Colonel Kati Mannequin," the woman replied coldly. "Commander of this team."

Then he saw her more clearly. He saw her shapely body, encased in a grey EUROFORCE uniform. Then he saw her face, with its tapering chin and high cheekbones, and grey eyes staring down her narrow nose, behind oval spectacles. Her dark brown hair was tied at the nape of her neck, but there was enough at the front to frame her face.

"_She's gorgeous!_" He leapt to his feet, snapped to attention, and saluted.

"I'm terribly sorry for being late Colonel!" Kati gave him an appraising look.

"_I think I'm in love!_"

"Since you're _finally_ here," Kati began, "you may as well meet the rest of the team," she gestured at the others. Patrick gaped as he saw them.

"You guys!" He recognised all of them. He knew Colonel Leesa Kujo from his time in Egypt. From her countenance, he guessed that she was coping with the death of her boyfriend, Emilio Ribisi. He recognized Neil Dylandy, his onetime student, though he shivered a little as Louise Halevy glared at him. She had evidently _not_ forgotten his little indiscretion that day. He saw Saji Tsuji beside her along with, to his mild surprise, Jacque Sant-Clare.

"Yes, Lieutenant," Leesa gave him an indulgent look. "We were chosen too."

"By who?"

"By me." Patrick looked to see a man in a black suit and shirt with a white tie slouching against the wall. He had long red hair, of a different shade to Patrick's own. The self-styled ace recognized him immediately.

"You!" he snapped. "What the hell are you doing here!"

"I'm here," Hamid sneered, "because it's _my_ mission, or rather it's EUROSEC's. I'm here to represent their, shall we say, _interests_."

"Colonel!" Patrick protested, turning to Kati. "What's he doing here! And why is he stealing my Paladins!"

"I pick my own team," Hamid retorted. "And your records impressed me, even if your personalities do not." Louise stuck her tongue out at him. He paid her no mind.

"Some of you may remember me," Hamid went on, speaking to all present. "To keep things simple, my name is Hamid, just Hamid. I'll be liaising with Colonel Mannequin," he gestured to Kati, who nodded in acknowledgement "for this mission." He paused a moment, looking over the team.

"EUROSEC has asked me to handle a _very_ important mission. That mission is, quite simply, to infiltrate Japan and examine the major resistance groups."

He paused, letting the bombshell strike. He noted the look that flashed momentarily over Saji's face. The young man probably hadn't been expecting to go home any time soon.

"Well, I've said it," he went on. "If anyone has a problem, now's the time to say so."

"Yeah there's a problem!" Patrick snapped. "What's _he_ doing here!" Hamid followed Patrick's jabbing finger, and saw that it pointed straight at Jacque. The boy was evidently unsettled by the attention.

"He's here," Hamid replied, "because he's the best knightmare programmer I've ever found. I need him to tell me as much as he can about Japanese knightmare electronics."

"He's a twelve-year-old kid!" Patrick shrieked, eyes bulging. "Having him in the rear echelon was bad enough, but in occupied territory! _And_ he's the First Consul's son!"

"Exactly," Hamid sneered. "The First Consul's son, the one no one gives a damn about," he glanced at Jacque, "no offense, Specialist."

It was the unfortunate truth. For all his talents, Jacque Sant-Clare was an unknown. His older sister Collette had been a famous performer even before their father became First Consul. Few outside of EUROFORCE knew that her younger brother was serving as an under-age technical specialist, and no one could be entirely sure how the public would react if the truth was made public.

Hamid did not know why Jacque had made such a choice, why he had chosen to put his life, EUROFORCE's reputation, and his father's political career on the line by serving. An even bigger mystery was why the latter had acquiesced. Hamid had a couple of theories about it. Either he had wanted to match his sister's fame in his own way, or else he wanted to escape from it.

"On a better note," he went on, "Jacque happens to have a useful contact. Don't you Jacque?"

"Yes, Monsieur Hamid," Jacque spoke up. "My sister's penpal, the Lady Kaguya Sumeragi."

"And she is?" Patrick demanded, unimpressed.

"The current head of House Sumeragi," Hamid interjected. "One of the Kyoto Six, and a major financial backer of Japanese resistance groups. A human contact like that" he shot Leesa a knowing glance, "makes the risk of bringing him along worthwhile."

Patrick looked as though he wanted to say more, but stopped himself.

"Okay," Hamid continued, "now that's settled. The purpose of our mission will be to evaluate certain Japanese resistance groups. EUROSEC wants to know if any of them has a hope of winning, which is where _you_ guys come in. Colonels Mannequin and Kujo will rate their overall capabilities and competence. Jacque will check out their knightmare programming, Saji the mechanical aspect. The rest of you," he gestured at Patrick, Neil, and Louise, "are muscle."

"Oh _thanks_," Louise groused.

"Don't take it the wrong way," Hamid soothed, smirking. "If we want the Japanese to cooperate with us, we're going to have to show that we take them seriously, and that we'll help them. That's where you come in. What's more…" he turned his gaze on Saji, "we've got a native Japanese speaker."

"Well," Saji smiled bashfully, his face turning red. "It's been seven years. I'm not sure how much help I'll be."

"You speak it _very_ well," Louise commented, slipping her arm through his. Kati cocked an eyebrow.

"They'll probably call you a _dog of the Europeans_," Hamid sneered. "But don't let it get you down." Saji faltered noticeably.

"Yeah," he admitted, massaging the back of his neck. "They probably will."

"They'd better not!" Louise snapped, squeezing his arm. "Japan's as much your home as theirs!"

"Louise," Saji turned his head to look at her, his eyes full of gratitude. "It's all right, really."

"No it isn't!" she snapped back, making him jump. "You don't have to take that from them."

"If I can forestall the marital spat," Hamid hissed, "we can get on with the planning."

"Hey, first things first!" Patrick interrupted. "If we're a team, we need a name."

Silence

"Right?" he looked from one to the other of his new teammates. "Any suggestions?"

There was a pause. Kati's stare became especially withering.

"Uh…" Jacque spoke up, only to falter when all turned to look at him. "Since we're going to help liberate Japan, I thought…_Bolivar_?"

There was another pause as this was considered.

"Bolivar." Patrick's face split into a wide smile. "I like it!"

_**

* * *

**__**Tokyo Settlement HQ, Area 11, 2017 ATB**_

"_Alexander…_"

The voice was warm and inviting.

"_Alexander…_"

Alexander's eyes fluttered open, showing him a blurred face. He blinked, the image sharpening as he regained consciousness.

The face was smiling warmly. It was a face he knew very well.

"P…Princess Euphemia!"

"Now now." Euphemia put her hands to his shoulders, holding him down on the _chaise longue_. He glanced around, and saw that he was in the receiving room of Princess Euphemia's chambers. "Lie still. You've had a terrible shock."

Alexander complied. As he realised where he was, and what must have happened, he felt a twinge of embarrassment.

"Your Highness, how did I get here?"

"Rai brought you," Euphemia replied cheerfully. "I just happened to be driving past Ashford Academy when I saw him lugging you across the campus pursued by hordes of students. It was the least I could do to rescue you both."

"The campus?" Alexander sat up.

"Yes," Euphemia smiled. "The students were…_unusually_ dressed, but Ashford Academy seems like an interesting place. Is should like to go there some day."

"No!" Alexander blurted out. "Your Highness must not go there! It's a hive of lunatics!"

"Don't be silly Alexander!" Euphemia giggled at his panic. "Rai explained everything. He assures me that it was only an occasional event."

"Rai?" Alexander looked around. Sure enough, there was Rai, standing off to one side. He was still wearing the maid outfit, though the ears and headband had been removed, as had the makeup. He nonetheless looked mortified.

"Sir Alexander," he said sheepishly. "I'm sorry you had to witness that."

"It's all right, Rai," Alexander tried to sound reassuring. "I'm grateful that you rescued me."

"There's no need to worry," Euphemia beamed. "I happened to have a cloak in the car, so no one saw him. We'll just have to hide him here until you can bring a change of clothes."

"Of course." Alexander managed to look at Rai again. "I don't know what people would say if they saw him…dressed like that."

"Oh I don't know." There was a mischievous gleam in the Princess' eyes as she looked Rai up and down. "I find it rather becoming. If you ever feel like a change of career, there's always a place on my domestic staff."

"I…must pass on that, your Highness." Rai lowered his head, face crimson. With Euphemia's attention elsewhere, Alexander found his mind wandering. His mind's eye took him back to Ashford Academy, back to the swimming pool, back to the face under the long black wig.

That face, that seemed so familiar. That hair, gleaming black, in a style he had seen before. Those vivid purple eyes…

It couldn't be. It just _couldn't _be.

But she had called him _Lelouch_.

Had she?

There was a chirping from the coffee table. Euphemia leaned over to what Alexander saw was an intercom unit.

"Yes?"

"Lord Waldstein is calling, your Highness. I was told to patch it through to you."

"Of course, you were right." For a moment Alexander was stunned. His father?

Sure enough, Bismarck Waldstein's face appeared on the screen, looking little different from when last he had seen it. Oblong, with long greying hair, and one eye sewn shut. It wore what was, by his standards, an expression of paternal warmth.

"Ah, Alexander. I was hoping to catch you. I trust all has gone well."

"Father…" Alexander clutched the screen, love and gratitude welling up inside him. "Oh father!"

"Alexander?"

"Father! Thank you!" Tears streamed down Alexander's face. "Thank you for your generosity! Thank you for not sending me to a public school! Thank you for not throwing me to the lunatics!"

"Alexander!" Bismarck was utterly bewildered. "Alexander!"

**

* * *

**

Apologies for the delay. My studies combined with the sheer scope of how these fics are turning out is slowing the writing process down somewhat. I particularly hope that you, my readers, enjoy the Luluko scene. I intended it to amuse, and I think it a test of my ability to write comedy. In case it wasn't obvious, Alexander (who is Setsuna) has had a somewhat conservative upbringing, and as such failed to notice that he was beset by crossdressers. The reason for Lelouch's pretence was to deceive Alexander into helping him escape, in case it wasn't obvious.

**I suppose I may as well explain Jacque, since Speaker-to-Trolls pointed out the absurdity of a 12-year-old in military service. My response is that such is the whole point. I included him as a parody of the various under-age service personnel who turn up in a great many anime. All the same, I hope to give him some depth and make him a worthwhile character. His sister Collette, incidentally, is my and Zaru's version of the unnamed Loli from the **_**Kiseki no Birthday**_** special. **

**I also hope that I have not offended Rai's fans by subjecting him to nekomimi. It was Zaru's idea originally, but it seemed in keeping with Milly's tendencies. Besides, it can't be much worse than the variously-coloured cheongsams he wore in the game. **

**Incidentally, the timing of June 2017 is intended to go with the Light Novels, whereas the Wiki puts it in August. Since I don't know where that date comes from, I'll go with the Light Novels for now. **


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_**Tokyo Settlement HQ, Area 11, June 2017 ATB**_

Alexander was not in the best condition.

A hot shower and a black coffee had relieved the worst of it, but he still felt drained, as though some ineffable vitality had been leeched out of him. He knew the feeling well, for it was not the first night he had made do with inadequate sleep.

This time was different. Never before had he spent an entire night beset by visions.

Visions of Luluko.

The events of the previous afternoon had haunted him in a series of dreams that were as varied as they were bizarre. In one of them, Luluko had twirled and giggled in front of him, dress billowing in the breeze, always just out of reach. Then when he finally caught her, that long black hair fell away to reveal the horrible truth. In another, he had been chased through endless corridors by numberless hordes of shrieking, whooping transvestites, each uglier than the last.

He supposed he should be grateful to have discovered the truth when he did. There was no telling what might have happened otherwise.

So he thought as he sat in the Officer's Mess, the air full of the clink of cutlery and the rumble of conversation as officers breakfasted around him.

The bread was fresh, still warm as he bit into it. His mood improved as he chewed and swallowed. He liked fresh bread. He always had for some reason. Perhaps a remnant of his hidden past, of the boy who no longer existed, by whose death he had been born.

"Lieutenant Waldstein, you seem troubled," commented Gilbert G. P. Guilford, Cornelia's personal knight and the nearest thing Alexander had to a friend aside from his new protégé Rai, who shared their table.

"Yes, I thought so too," grunted General Andreas Darlton, shooting Alexander a grin. "Too much fun yesterday I'll warrant."

"I wouldn't have it called it fun Sir." Alexander felt himself shudder. There were only the three of them at that particular table, but he could not shake the feeling that the whole mess could hear. He glanced at Rai, and saw that the silver-haired boy was doing his utmost not to look mortified. He had suffered far worse in the previous day's lunacy, being forced to hide in Princess Euphemia's quarters, pretending to be one of her maids, until Alexander had been able to bring a change of clothes. As far as he could tell the deception had worked like a charm.

He certainly hoped it had, for he dreaded what might happen to Rai if the truth ever got out.

"Come now!" Darlton half-laughed. "There are those among your fellow officers who'd give anything to be chased around a school by beautiful young ladies!"

"They weren't ladies, General," Guilford commented sourly, as Alexander's face turned the colour of his coat.

"Just because they weren't _dressed_ as ladies doesn't mean they _weren't_ ladies!" Darlton insisted, smiling too much. "They can't help themselves when the young Meister is around!"

"General sir, please." Alexander wished he could sink into the floor and disappear. "My reputation is in ruins. I'm known as the Saviour of Transvestites." Rai almost choked.

"Don't worry about that!" Darlton patted Alexander on the back. "It'll blow over. Things like that always do. Just kill some Elevens and they'll forget."

Alexander felt a twinge, a strange feeling that he was being watched. He glanced to the side, his gaze falling on the table occupied by a group of young, male officers wearing the same RPI subaltern's uniform as Rai; grey-blue pants and jackets over white shirts and red neckties. Alexander wasn't sure, but he could have sworn that one of them had been staring at him, only to look down as he looked up.

Alexander knew who they were. He could see the red bird's wing badge on their lapels. They were members of the Purity League, an up-and-coming military faction that had, not long ago, been in a position to take control of Area 11. Their leader in that endeavour had been none other than the Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald, who had gone in eight years from an antisocial cadet to a Devicer of some renown. In the days following the assassination of Prince Clovis, he had taken the post of acting Consul, seeking to use the limited time he had to push his political agenda.

Unfortunately for him, he had chosen to do so by arresting an Honourary Britannia by the name of Suzaku Kururugi, using his authority to bypass all procedure. Kururugi had been declared guilty, despite nonexistent evidence, and sentenced to death, his fate to be carried out in a theatrical public execution before crowds of baying colonists. The idea was that the execution would win the Purity League the institutional influence it needed to push its own agenda, to deny Honourary Britannians the right to serve in the armed forces.

Except it hadn't worked. In fact, it had gone spectacularly wrong, and not just because Zero had turned up in person to claim responsibility and make off with Kururugi. It was because Jeremiah Gottwald had seemingly lost his mind, attacking his own comrades and screaming that Zero had to be allowed to escape.

The failure could not have been much worse. Not only had Gottwald publically disgraced himself, but in carrying out his plan he had stood on a great many toes, some of them insured for more than he could earn in a year. By railroading Kururugi, he had enraged the Judge Advocate General, whose responsibility and prerogative it was handle the case. There had been no other way, for the JAG was an institution the Purists, as the League's members were generally known could neither control nor influence. They simply didn't have _that_ kind of power. What was more, by engaging in such a naked power grab, Gottwald had marked himself as politically unreliable. Even if they could not find him guilty of treasonous conspiracy, they still managed to demote him three ranks, leaving him the choice of continuing as a bottom-rank pilot or cultivating an orange field, their euphemism for a dishonourable discharge. The JAG had gotten their revenge.

But the grim-faced men across the mess hall had only made it worse for themselves by trying to kill their disgraced leader, no doubt believing that his death would cleanse them of any taint. All it did was tar them with the same brush as Jeremiah, the brush of _politically unreliable._ It condemned them to the reserve, from whence they might never be able to redeem themselves in battle.

And one of them had been staring at _him._

Alexander barely suppressed a shiver of fear. If men like _them_ found out his secret, then his life would be ruined, one way or another. Even if no one would believe them, they would still do anything they could to destroy him. Their cherished beliefs would allow them no other course of action.

Did they know?

He forced himself to calm down. There was no way they could possibly know, for he could count those who knew on one hand. There was the Emperor, the Shah of Krugis, his father, the late Empress Marianne, the OSI forger who had provided the documentation, and his father's physician, who had perjured himself out of loyalty in signing the Birth Certificate. Empress Marianne was dead, a fact that had caused him much sorrow. The forger and the Doctor knew what would happen to them if the truth got out, and his father would never tell. That left the Emperor and the King, who had no interest in the matter.

Alexander knew in his soul that the Emperor might someday reveal the truth. This was not something he could prevent, nor did he have any right to. The Emperor was the Emperor, the one who held his oath. If the Emperor saw fit to reveal it, he could not complain, or question. Such was the way of things.

"You look pale Alex," Darlton's voice cut through his thoughts. "Something up?"

"No, General," Alexander quickly mastered himself. "I was thinking about the recent business with the Purists."

"Don't concern yourself with such things," Guilford interjected sternly. "Their disgrace is not your business."

"It's just that if there's an op soon," Alexander gave the older knight a meaningful look, "they'll be in the reserve."

"And you're wondering if they'll make asses of themselves again," Darlton cut in, grinning. "Well put it this way, if we had enough usable knightmare units, the Princess would've packed them off to Area 16, where they can preach blood purity to the Tsetse fly."

Alexander knew what he meant. Area 16, formally Chad and the Central African Republic, was one of the least desirable postings in the whole Empire. It was not simply the heat, the locals, and the infamous fly, which had thrived after the invasion disrupted pest-control efforts. It was bordered by the Sudan to the east and the Democratic Republic of the Congo to the south, both hostile recipients of increasingly open EU military aid, and willing to support anti-Britannian insurgent groups operating in the Area. It was the modern equivalent of a posting to the infamous 'fever islands'.

"I understand, General."

"There's only one decent one among them," Darlton went on. "Her name's Villetta Nu, and even she managed to lose her _Sutherland_ on the day Prince Clovis was killed."

"I heard about that, General," Alexander perked up. "Wasn't she providing assistance to a civilian?"

"That's the report." Darlton looked dubious. "But Graham vouches for her. And," he leered, "I know for a fact he's been seeing her since we got here."

"You're certain?"

"It's been going on longer than that," Guilford cut in.

"All the same, don't concern yourself with them," Darlton advised. "And watch yourself around Nu. She's dangerous, and she'll do anything to get her career back on track. Graham can handle her, but a young lad like you can't."

"I'll be careful, General."

_**

* * *

**_

_**Ashford Private Academy, Tokyo Settlement**_

The main refectory at Ashford Private Academy was pleasant place to eat. The floor was wide, containing many long tables. Its architecture was as elegant as anywhere else in the grounds, the tall windows and high ceiling giving the place an airy, spacious feel. Like everywhere else at Ashford Academy, it was designed to make students and staff feel good to be there.

Shirley Fenette had been contentedly eating her breakfast, flicking through a magazine, which she concealed under a pile of her school books when she saw _her _coming.

"Why Shirley," Milly Ashford commented, taking the seat next to her. "You look a little unsettled this morning."

"I was just a little worried," Shirley admitted. "I mean, after what happened last night."

"You're still worried about that?" Milly exclaimed, evidently amused. "My dear you should be proud! You helped reduce a high-born son of the Empire to a gibbering wreck! Too bad Rai had to spoil the fun!"

"Madam-President!" Shirley protested, upset by her levity. "He was an officer in Princess Cornelia's guards! You'll get us all in trouble!"

"Shirley." Milly gave her friend a patient look. "If we were in trouble, we would know about it by now."

"It…it just seemed wrong somehow." Shirley's charming face turned mournful. "Putting him through all that."

"Ahem, excuse me!" Milly feigned offence. "_I _wasn't the one who leapt into his arms and pretended to be a damsel in distress. If anyone's responsible it's our beloved Lulu."

"But we didn't have to chase them round the campus like that!"

"It was for Lulu's own good." Milly's mouth curled upward in a vulpine smile. "Would you rather he got carried off?"

"No!" Shirley blurted out. "It's…"

"You really need to be more honest Shirley," Milly pressed on. "If you wanted to see our darling Lulu as a blushing bride, you had only to say! We could do it right here on campus, and we wouldn't even have to explain to the Knight of One why his daughter-in-law isn't all she appears!"

"That's not what I meant!" Shirley took a moment to collect herself, forcing away the images of Lelouch in gleaming white organza. "It's just…" she paused, a sigh escaping her lips. "He was just so…earnest. He _really_ believed he was saving Luluko."

"Shirley," Milly drawled. "Do you _like_ him?"

The question caught Shirley totally off-guard, making her gasp and splutter in shock.

"No! It's nothing like that!"

"You're sure about that?" Milly cocked her head.

"Positive!"

"Sure you're sure?"

"Yes!"

"Okay." Milly seemed to drop the matter. "Oh but then what's _this_!" Before Shirley could react, Milly's hand shot out, grabbing the magazine from under her books and pulling it out. Shirley gave a bleat of surprise and embarrassment as the magazine fell open at the exclusive article on Alexander Waldstein.

With _pictures._

"Oh _my _Shirley!" Milly cooed. "Are you setting your sights higher? Have you graduated from schoolboys to rich boys?"

"Milly give that back!" Shirley wailed as she grabbed for the magazine, face red with embarrassment.

_**

* * *

**_

_**Somewhere in Tokyo,**__**Area 11, June 2017 ATB. **_

Zero, otherwise known as Lelouch Lamperouge, tried to focus his thoughts.

This was supposed to be a happy event, and indeed it was. He had taken pleasure in the looks on their faces when they saw the new equipment sent by Kyoto. The small arms, the equipment rigs, the _Burai_ knightmares.

And most especially the _Guren Nishiki_, Japan's first ever knightmare frame, and possibly the most powerful ever built. It was red, somewhat hunched, with a mighty metallic gauntlet bearing a weapon of terrible power. It used a somewhat different interface mechanism, the pilot riding it like a motorcycle rather than piloting it like an aircraft. He wasn't entirely sure which was better, but he knew for sure that the _Guren_ would do well. All the latest technologies, all the known wisdom of knightmare combat, had gone into its construction.

He had given it to Kallen, despite her protests. Of all those who followed him, she alone had the skill needed to get the most out of the _Guren. _She alone was worthy of it.

As he stood alone on the lower floor of the Black Knights' MCV, once a personal recreational vehicle 'loaned' to him by a certain dilettantish aristocrat whose only hint of its existence was an unexplainable hole in his bank balance, Zero prepared himself for the meeting he had called with the Black Knights officers.

It concerned a matter of the greatest importance, but that was not the only thing on his mind.

"_Alexander_…"

After all those years they had met again, though Alexander Waldstein had not known it. All he had seen was _Luluko._

Of the humiliating, degrading things that could have happened! To see his childhood friend again while wearing a _dress_! Worse, while disguised so convincingly that his old companion had mistaken him for a girl, and treated him as one.

To be fair, he _had_ played the damsel in distress, seeing in it an opportunity to escape. But there was another, far worse reason. He had done it because he could not bear to let his former companion know that he was wearing a dress. It was an embarrassment he simply could not bear.

He had come so close to pulling it off. But then Milly had ruined everything by exposing the masquerade, which Alexander had somehow managed not to notice. She had pulled the wig from his head, and Alexander had seen him.

"_Alexander…_"

He still remembered those happy days, when Alexander had lived with them, all those years ago. He remembered how fond Nunnally and his mother had been of him. He remembered how he had stood up for him and Nunnally, protecting them from Queen Gabriella and her flunkies. He remembered how they played together in the gardens, his look of chagrin as Euphemia placed a circlet of flowers on his head.

Alexander Waldstein, Viscount San Clemente, in those days the nearest thing he had ever had to a friend. It was not until he met Suzaku that he learned what true friendship was. It was not until it was too late that he understood what had gone between them.

And he had seen him…in a dress.

Worse, he was a soldier of the Empire, a knight in the service of Princess Cornelia, the most deadly of his immediate adversaries. He remembered very well how close Alexander had been his older half-sister. Had he told her? Had he revealed the miracle? That the Prince thought dead was in fact alive?

The fact that Cornelia had not come directly to claim him suggested that his secret was safe. Perhaps Alexander was not sure, or maybe he had dismissed the revelation as a hallucination, the invented memory of an addled mind.

He heard the door clunk behind him, and wondered who it was, for the scheduled time was still twenty minutes away. He turned, and saw that it was Kallen. The red-haired girl wore a disconsolate look, her shoulders uncharacteristically slumping. She didn't normally look like that, not even in her guise as Kallen Stadtfeld, the sickly daughter of a Britannian noble family. And that was a story in itself, one he had learned the truth of recently.

"Kallen," he said. "Is something wrong?"

"Zero." She cleared her throat, preparing herself. "I…the reason I shouldn't have the _Guren…_"

"Kallen." Zero made his tone gentle. "If something's bothering you, please tell me."

"Yesterday, I saw Alexander Waldstein." She said it as if she were confessing some dreadful sin. "I had a chance to kill him."

"And?" Zero already knew what her answer would be, and was profoundly relieved that she did not know his identity. It would be rather embarrassing.

"I failed!" Kallen snarled. "I…I had the chance to kill him, and I blew it!" She snapped her head away, but Zero could see the fury and frustration in her soul.

"It's all right, Kallen," he said, his tone sympathetic. "In fact, I'm glad that you didn't kill him."

"But…" Kallen's face snapped back towards him, cheeks reddening. "He's one of their best pilots! I…I couldn't miss a chance like that!"

"It wasn't worth it, Kallen," Zero went on. "If you killed him, right there on campus, you would never be able to go back there again, even if you escaped."

"I don't care about that!" Kallen protested. "I don't need to be there! It's just a waste of time!"

"You really hate it that much?"

"No!" Kallen faltered. "I…I don't _hate_ it! It's just that…if I spend my time there, having fun and learning, then it feels like I'm letting everyone else down!"

"The others don't feel that way."

"I know!" Zero had never seen her quite so peevish. "Ougi's the worst! He keeps telling me that it's what my brother would've wanted." She paused. "But the fact is, I _can't _go back there, not now."

"And why not?" Kallen paused, repeatedly clearing her throat, as if she was about to reveal some terrible secret.

"I can't…because I think I might be compromised." The words hung in the air.

"By whom?" Zero kept his tone level, in character as the stoic leader.

"It wasn't Waldstein!" Kallen insisted. "His head was looking the other way when the tarpaulin fell on me. It was…the person with him."

"Ah yes," Zero mused. "The _black maiden of Ashford_ we've been hearing so much about. Who is she really?"

"It's not a _she_! His name's Lelouch Lamperouge, and the whole thing happened because he _happens_ to look good in a dress."

"I see," Zero forced down a surge of embarrassment. "What's your relationship with him?"

"Nothing!" Kallen shrieked, face turning the colour of her hair. "I mean…it's not…he's my classmate, and he's on the Student Council."

"What I mean is," Zero pressed, somewhat amused, "what sort of person does he seem like to you?"

"Complicated," Kallen groused. "And not in a good way."

"Do tell."

"He's arrogant and high-handed," Kallen said, her voice taut with frustration. "He thinks he's so _above_ everyone, even other Britannians. He doesn't like what Britannia does, but doesn't let it affect him! He acts like its all somebody else's problem, and that nothing anyone does will change it! He thinks he can just sit around and make fun of people, whether they're Britannians, Japanese or whatever!"

"He sounds like an interesting fellow," Zero barely stopped himself from laughing. "But you said he was complicated."

"He's…he's got this little sister." Kallen turned away, and Zero saw sorrow in her eyes. "She's blind, and she's in a wheelchair. He takes care of her, and people just make fun of him over it."

"And that bothers you."

"What's wrong with taking care of your little sister!" Kallen demanded, anger cutting through the sorrow. "It…it reminded me of my brother, Naoto."

"You do realise," Zero decided to drop the bombshell, "that if you killed Waldstein, you would have had to kill him too."

"I know," Kallen sniffed. "I didn't _want _to kill him. It just seemed like…" She trailed off.

"Kallen, I'm glad you didn't kill him," Zero said. Though part of him wanted to tell the truth, he knew that he had to divert her suspicions. "He is…a person of some importance to me."

"You know him?" Kallen's face was a picture of shock, the colour draining away.

"He and I go back a long way," Zero explained, warming to the not-quite lie. "I was of some help to him in the past, and he felt the need to repay me. That is, incidentally, why I need you to remain at Ashford Academy. I need you to keep an eye on him for me."

"Why?" Kallen asked, still bewildered. "Why is he so important?"

"It's best that you not know, in case you are captured. All I need you to do is make sure nothing bad happens to him. But don't breach his privacy or inquire too closely. Do you understand?"

Kallen wanted to object, to say that he could trust her with the secret, that she would die rather than tell. But she knew well enough what became of those who had information Britannia wanted. Men and women stronger and braver than she would ever be had broken under the OSI's attentions. She had sworn she would never let herself be taken alive, but knew that the saying was easier than the doing.

"I understand," she said, stiffening to something like attention. "I won't let anything happen to him, not if he's on our side."

"He _is_ on our side," Zero insisted, feeling himself relax. "He said what he said because I told him to say it. I'm sorry I didn't trust you with this information before, but you must understand the dangers. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you."

"Oh…" Kallen looked away, cheeks reddening again. "Zero…"

Zero was for the most part relieved. With any luck, Kallen could now be relied on not to discover his secret. The last thing he needed was _her_ snooping around.

The Black Knights officers drifted in over a period of about ten minutes. Well, he called them his officers, but in truth they were merely the most capable and senior individuals he could find. The Order of the Black Knights, for all the grandiosity of its title and intentions, was essentially just another resistance group. None of its members had any firearms training, aside from a couple of former policemen. Their weapons were few and diverse, and hardly anyone knew how to service them properly. It was little wonder they suffered so badly against well-trained, heavily armed Britannian soldiers, even if those they faced were second-line washouts of the Colonial Security Forces, rather than the elite mobile units of the Imperial Army.

His first task, once they had accepted his leadership, was to completely reorganize them. Those with useful skills, like bomb-making and firearms maintenance, he set to training the others. Some things, like simple infantry tactics, he taught himself. After much patient tuition, the rabble was showing the first signs of becoming a usable fighting force.

He had not limited himself to them alone, however. He had travelled to other places, other ghettoes in other cities, to train interested resistance groups. These formed independent cells, and though some had been captured, the Britannians had been unable to trace his main group. Their prisoners, no matter how much they were tortured, had seen only a man in a mask.

His web was spreading.

"_Minna,_" he said, speaking in their native Japanese. "I trust that you've gotten everything else in order?"

"We sure have!" Shinichiro Tamaki proclaimed with a grin, making a 'V' sign with his forefingers. "The others are all drooling over the _Burai_s!"

Zero smiled under his mask as he looked around the group, taking in the affirmative nods. He had known that the new knightmares would go down well.

"I've called you here for a very important announcement, a matter I feel you should all be aware of." He paused, noting their interest, knowing he was about to drop a bombshell.

"I have recently received word…that the European Security Directorate is sending a mission to Japan, to evaluate the capabilities of the resistance."

There was a brief pause.

"EUROSEC?" blue-haired Kento Sugiyama blurted out, using the organisation's more common moniker. "Coming here?"

"Yes." Zero looked around, noting their shock and bewilderment, and more than a little fear. "They are."

"All right!" Tamaki proclaimed, ever the optimist. "They must've heard of us!"

"You're excited about this!" Sugiyama rounded on Tamaki. "They let the KGB join up!"

"It's the FSB now you idiot!"

"So what! The EU's no different from Britannia! All they want is our sakuradite!"

"At least they didn't attack us!"

"And they didn't fight for us either!"

Zero felt his chest tighten in irritation. They were both right, of course. As superpowers went, the EU was comparatively benign, but it was still willing to make use of organisations like the former KGB. It was generally nonviolent, unwilling to use force to get what it wanted, but it was also unwilling to involve itself in the conflicts of others. The EU wanted Japan's sakuradite as much as anyone else, but it was willing to treat the Japanese like human beings.

He had known this little bust-up was coming.

"Everyone," he called, drawing their attention. "I agree that the EU's intentions must be treated with caution, but at the same time I believe that they are the only power we dare to work with."

"They've never bothered with us before," bespectacled Minami Yoshitaka spoke up. "What made them change their minds?"

"Most likely seven years," Zero replied. "It's true that they were rather easily dissuaded the last time, but as I said, that was seven years ago. A lot can change in that much time."

"I agree with Zero on this," said Inoue, the newly-appointed Commander of the Logistics Corps. "If the EU is looking to help, I don't think we're in a position to turn them down. We need all the help we can get."

"If they're offering money, I'm all for it!" Tamaki cut in, smirking.

"I'm not so sure." It was Ougi Kaname who had spoken. When all eyes turned on him, he wilted somewhat, then recovered. "I mean, even if they agree to help us, wouldn't that make us their proxies?"

"Yeah!" Sugiyama added. "Just like the Chinese Federation with the Communists."

"That," Zero replied, "is precisely what the EU wishes to avoid." He cleared his throat, readying his words.

"The EU knows better than to support one faction over others. If all the interested parties support one faction against all others, then even if the Britannians are driven out, the different factions will fight each other for control of the country." He paused, and knew from their expressions that they understood.

"We who fight for justice surely know what will happen," he went on. "The destruction and degradation of what remains of this country, its degeneration into a haven for terrorists, gunrunners, and narcotics smugglers. The Japanese deserve better than to see their country become a failed state." He paused again, seeing the determination in their eyes.

"There is one circumstance under which the EU will give its full support." His voice came to the boil, rising in intensity and conviction. "They will give their aid to the faction that can lead the whole of Japan." He drew in a breath.

"Japan must stand before the EU as one country! Its people must speak with one voice! And we, the Black Knights, must become that voice!"

_**

* * *

**_

_**Narita Mountains, Area 11, June 2017 ATB**_

The Narita mountains had been one of the old Japan's great beauty spots.

Rugged peaks dotted the skyline like so many grey boulders, their green moss the trees that had sprouted, grown, and died over countless millennia. The forests spread out for miles around, unutterably ancient and yet entirely benign. The Japanese had inhabited the place on and off for thousands of years, yet they were mere newcomers by comparison, little more than freeloaders for whom humility was becoming.

Lieutenant Colonel Kyoshiroh Tohdoh, once of the Japanese Self-Defence Forces, now of the Japan Liberation Front, felt suitably humbled when he looked out over the landscape. Even in the dark of night, illuminated by the glittering stars, it was a beautiful sight. To look upon it as he was currently doing, he could almost forget the mortal wound Japan had suffered seven years earlier.

Almost.

The wound was struck before the first shot was fired. It was a blow _he_ might have prevented, had he only thought to act. Had he only the courage to do what a young boy had done instead.

He felt a twinge of melancholy as he looked down over the valley, at the small Britannian Settlement of Narita, once a small Japanese town of no particular note. The Britannians too had seen beauty in those mountains and trees, and as with all beauty they coveted it, sought to possess it for themselves. Hence the Settlement, sitting at the bottom of the valley like a toad on a rock, a constant reminder of what he had allowed to happen.

He heard footsteps behind him. He turned his head, narrow eyes gazing upon the broad face of General Tatewaki Katase, his superior, patron, and almost a second father.

"Staring morosely over the land, Tohdoh?" There was a slight smile on the General's face. "You look like you're in an old movie."

"Please excuse me General," Tohdoh snapped his heels together and saluted. "I needed some time to think."

"You never change Tohdoh." Katase walked up to stand beside him. "But I can't say I blame you. Things haven't been good recently."

And they hadn't. Lieutenant Colonel Kusakabe's little hostage-taking jaunt had not been much of a blow in terms of men or materiel. But it had cost the JLF vital credibility, making them look at best like a bunch of out-of-touch militarists, at worst like a pack of murderers no better than the juvenile delinquents, organised criminals, and religious fanatics that made up the bulk of the 'resistance.'

What made it so galling was that it wasn't _entirely_ inaccurate. When the JLF was founded, its members had sworn to fight as soldiers, with honour, discipline, and dignity. They had done their best, but the men and women of the JLF were human beings as well as soldiers. Many had seen all they had known and loved destroyed. To be part of the JLF was to forever resist the human instinct to fight back, to attack the enemy in any possible way, to force the enemy to share in their suffering.

Some of them just couldn't do it. Some of them needed a taste of blood.

And then there was Zero, the masked avenger, the mysterious hero. The man who saved hostages, hunted down drug-pushers, who only attacked military targets. The man who had founded an order of Black Knights, soldiers for justice, protectors of the weak. The man around whom the Japanese were beginning to rally.

"Kusakabe has ruined it for us," he said grimly. "The public is turning towards the Black Knights, as is Kyoto."

"It's no great surprise," Katase admitted, smile fading. "We always knew Kyoto could not be trusted. We knew they would abandon us the moment we became inconvenient, and it seems that time may be upon us."

"Are we to join forces with the Black Knights?"

"It may come to that." Katase paused. "But something else has come up."

"General?"

"As you know, my wife and children are in Europe. My eldest son has sent me a message, with some important news." Katase paused again, and Tohdoh wondered if he was thinking of his distant family. "Apparently, EUROSEC has taken an interest in us."

"EUROSEC?"

"Yes," the General's smile returned. "I thought that would get your attention. Have you been keeping up on the Intel?"

"I know that Clovis' regime was riddled with their informants," Tohdoh replied, "the bulk of them having no idea who they were talking to. Cornelia cleared them out of the military command, but there's a lot of them left in the colonial administration. EUROSEC probably wants to shore up its position here, then find a faction it can support."

"Astute as ever." Katase gave him a meaningful look. "But who will they choose?"

"The odds are in favour of the Black Knights," Tohdoh replied, admitting the horrible truth without hesitation. "They have a much wider base of public support than us, and Zero seems to have the knack for pulling together disparate groups. Such a talent will serve him well if he intends to be a leader."

"A leader of what, though." The General's countenance darkened. "I cannot help but wonder how far he means to go. With the EU's support, he could drive Britannia from this land, and perhaps even rule it himself."

"Not by his own power, at least not for long," Tohdoh retorted. "The EU will expect reasonable progress towards democracy, and the European royalty will want his Imperial Majesty to be properly treated." The two officers reflexively bowed their heads in respect to _Tenno Heika_. At that time Japan's symbolic Emperor resided in Kyoto, under the watchful gaze of the Six Houses, a fact that caused rancour among many of those Japanese who held the Chrysanthemum Throne in reverence.

"And rightly so." There was fervour in Katase's tone. "But all the same, it is not right that his Imperial Majesty remains the prisoner of those plutocrats. We cannot afford to be destroyed while that is the case."

"There is one other factor in our favour, General. That the EU would make its move now indicates that they are in a hurry, and it's no surprise. Their position in Africa is rapidly becoming untenable, and when Britannia decides to invade Europe for true, the sakuradite bribes will stop. They need to cut off Britannia's supply of sakuradite immediately, and even disruption of the supply is better than nothing."

Katase was silent for a while, as if thinking.

"You're right of course, Tohdoh. If we are to work with the EU, I feel better for knowing there's something in it for them too, and what that something is."

"Yes General."

"On a better note, we have confirmation that the _Burai Kai_s are ready for you at the usual place."

"In which case I'll gather my squad and head out." Tohdoh saluted again. "Until next time General."

"Until next time, Tohdoh."

_**

* * *

**_

_**Faslane Naval Base, United Kingdom of Great Britain, EU, June 2017 ATB. **_

It was cold. Very cold.

For a man accustomed to the heat of the Middle East, Hamid should have found the chill unbearable. But he endured it, as he had endured so many things. In fact, he found the cold wind quite bracing. It blew in from the Atlantic Ocean, funnelled down between the land, and made his hair dance.

Standing on the dock, he stared out over the Gare Loch, as it reached down to the Firth of Clyde. The land across the Loch was black, a deeper black than the cloudy sky above, interspersed with occasional stars. The lights of the naval base reflected of the limpid waters.

Waters through which he would soon be travelling.

The means of his conveyance rode at anchor before and to his right. The submarine HMS _Turbulent_ was a squat, angry-looking thing, looming by the dock like an unspoken threat, or a venomous glance. She was few shy of a hundred metres long, her hull covered with tiles made of some exotic polymer with a name Hamid couldn't pronounce. Hidden within her black hull were enough supercavitating torpedoes and supersonic anti-ship missiles to wipe out a Britannian Carrier Battlegroup, assuming she was ever able to fire them all off. On top of that were a number of cruise missiles, enough for her to make her presence felt on land. She could manage anything up to thirty knots, though she fought at far less, and could slip through the most sensitive of sonar nets like a spirit in the night.

Hamid watched the sailors filing up the gangplank, heavy dufflebags over their shoulders distorting their profiles. He knew of their stubborn, bloody-minded pride, both in their boat and in the navy of which it was part. He could allow it, as a connoisseur of creative destruction, for _Turbulent_ was easily one of the most sophisticated and destructive war machines ever to be fashioned by human hands.

But it was not to his taste. He much preferred to be at the controls of a knightmare frame, where he had at least some control over his fate. Such was not possible in submarine combat. It took place deep below the waves, slow and silent, waiting for low throb of an enemy's propeller, the ear-splitting screech as the enemy went active, or the roar of incoming torpedoes. It was a form of combat in which the slightest mistake was swift death, crushed by the weight of the ocean, never to be found.

Such might well be his fate, some time in the next few weeks.

"We'll be boarding soon."

Hamid did not look. He knew perfectly well who had spoken.

"I guess so," he replied. "I was just taking in the air one last time."

"I never took you for the artistic type," Colonel Kati Mannequin commented, stepping up beside him. "It doesn't fit your profile one bit."

"Really?" Hamid's face split into a smile as he turned to regard her. "And what does my profile say to you Colonel?"

"It says to be that you're a murderer and a sociopath." Kati's tone was level, but there was still something of the disgust she felt in it. "You get off on using terrorists to do your dirty work before killing any who survive. That makes you a murderer, and also a sociopath, because you somehow convinced EUROSEC to pay you to do it."

"Well," Hamid replied casually, "I can't really deny it. All I can say is that the people I kill are terrorists, and as such they deserve what I inflict on them. Is it such a crime if I enjoy my work? And if I get rich off of it?"

"If you killed them in the name of justice, or to protect the innocent, I would call you my comrade." Kati's eyes were hard. "The most I can call you is my colleague, since we are ultimately on the same side."

"I'll settle for that." Hamid's smile did not falter. "It's the best I can expect from an honourable soldier like yourself."

"Don't joke with me Hamid."

"I never joke." His eyes flashed. "I meant what I said. You are a soldier, and have honour because your battles are honest and upfront. Mine are not. It's as simple as that."

"Since you are honest with me, I'll be honest with you." Kati's voice hardened. "If you do _anything_ to one of my subordinates, or step over the line in _any _context, you won't live to see another day."

"Of course," Hamid snickered. "You have your orders, after all." Kati Mannequin stared at Hamid for a long time, then coughed a rueful laugh.

"You really don't care, do you." It was a statement, not a question. "You don't care if you live or die."

"I'm not the kind to throw my life away for nothing," Hamid admitted. "But if it should come upon me while I'm doing my job, I won't be much bothered by it. To be blunt I like to fight, and those who like to fight have no business being afraid of dying. It's…_counterproductive._"

"Is that all it is?"

"I threw my honour away long ago, Colonel." Hamid's countenance darkened. "I sacrificed it on the altar of what I thought was a glorious cause, along with things far more precious."

"And that's why you do it?" she asked. "You use and kill them as a way of getting revenge?"

"I guess you could call it that." That diabolic smile returned. "But as much as anything else, I do it for pride in a job well done."

_**

* * *

**_

_**Narita Settlement, Area 11, June 2017 ATB. **_

Alexander strode along the abandoned street, saluting a couple of soldiers as they passed in the opposite direction. He had left Rai behind with their knightmares, for he did not expect to be long.

He was playing errand boy. Not that he had a problem with it, for any task his Princess gave him was an honour. And to be fair, the task was of some importance. It was to go and find 'those damned corporate types' as Cornelia described them, and make sure that the equipment she had ordered them to provide was ready. It was sounding gear, of the sort used to find objects and empty spaces underground. If the JLF's bunkers and tunnels were to be rooted out, then such equipment would be needed. At present the Britannian forces in Area 11 possessed no such equipment of its own, necessitating the 'borrowing' of it from a Britannian company, along with the personnel needed to operate it. That Cornelia was sending him in person was meant as a show of how seriously she took their contribution, with the implication of what would happen to them if anything went wrong.

He rounded a corner, and saw a line of parked HGVs bearing the corporate logo Cornelia had shown him back on the GCV. A group of harassed-looking men were hanging around one of them, talking amongst themselves. They headed away from him, around the first HGV and out of sight.

A flutter of white caught Alexander's attention, dropping from one of the retreating men. He strode over and picked it up.

It was a photograph, with a picture of a young woman of about his own age. Her long hair was reddish-brown, almost orange, framing a face that was not beautiful in the strictest sense, but by no means unsightly either. Her eyes were green and bright, matching a generally cheery countenance. She wore what looked like a school uniform, consisting of a cream-coloured jacket with gold trim over a white blouse and a short black skirt. Her necktie was dark green, bearing a gold fleur-de-lys.

He was sure he had seen somewhere before. He had a pretty good idea where, for the logo was part of House Ashford's armorial badge.

He suddenly realised that the man who had dropped the photograph was nearby, but still heading away.

"Excuse me sir," Alexander held out the photograph as the man turned. "You dropped this."

"Oh!" The man looked surprised, even more so when he saw Alexander's uniform. "Oh, uh, thank you, your Lordship." He took the photograph, massaging the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I don't know how to thank you enough. I couldn't bear to lose this picture."

"Please think nothing of it," Alexander replied. "If you will forgive my asking, who is that?"

"This, it's my daughter, Shirley" the man beamed with pride. "Isn't she lovely?"

"I believe I've seen her before," Alexander commented, ignoring his impudence. "Does she attend Ashford Academy?"

"Why yes, she does." The man was momentarily befuddled. "Oh, I completely forgot to introduce myself!" the man bowed. "Joseph Fenette, at your service."

"Captain Alexander Waldstein, at yours." Alexander nodded in acknowledgement. "You're actually the one I was looking for. Her Imperial Highness wishes to know the status of the sounding devices."

"Oh, yes," the man laughed nervously, turning to one of his fellows. "How are the sounders Siegel?"

"All set!" the other man called back. "We're ready to go!"

"I'm sorry for the delay," Joseph Fenette went on, still rather bashful. "The sounders are a bit delicate, so we have to do a thorough check."

"I quite understand," Alexander reassured him. "Her Highness would sooner endure a brief delay now than have your equipment break down on us once we're up there."

"That's a relief!" The older man seemed to relax somewhat. "Incidentally Captain, when will we be going up?"

"Probably not for a few hours yet," Alexander explained. "We'll need to secure the mountainside before we do anything else. We won't be calling you in until we've cleared away their forces and swept for booby traps."

"I see. That's good to know." Joseph then realised he was still clutching the photo, and slipped it into his breast pocket. "To be honest we were a little worried. In our line of work we don't often get shot at."

"I should say not," Alexander allowed. "If you will excuse me, I should tell her Highness that you are ready."

* * *

"Hey babes!" Major Sir Graham Aker smiled as he saw his girlfriend's face on the screen. "You up for a terrorist hunt?"

"Graham," Villetta Nu blushed, glancing over her console. "This really isn't the time."

"Ah come on," Graham chuckled. "I just wanted to look at your face before I went into battle. That way, if I die, your eyes will be the last thing I see."

"Don't say that," Villetta retorted, somewhat forcefully. "You're not going to die."

"I know, but I had to say it. How's old Jeremiah doing?"

"About as well as can be expected." Villetta narrowed her eyes. "He's frustrated because we're stuck in the reserve. I doubt we'll see action today."

"That's too bad. You should dump those Purist good-for-nothings and join the ADKC. Then you'll get a real fight whenever you fancy!"

"You know I can't do that. Not after everything that's happened."

"I'll vouch for you!"

"Just don't, Graham." Villetta gave him one of her sly smiles. "I'll sort my career out, and Lord Jeremiah's too. What's more, I'll do it _my _way."

"I bet you will!" Graham's smile widened.

"Sir, we're coming up on the outer combat zone" came the voice of his transport's pilot. "Orders are for comm-silence."

"Understood," Graham replied, then turned back to the face of his lover. "Gotta go babes."

"I know" Villetta's eyes momentarily sparkled. "Watch yourself up there."

"You too." And the screen went black.

"Major, were you talking to your woman _again_!" demanded Lieutenant Sir Howard Mason, one of his four squad-mates. "We were told comm-silence!"

"Only inside the Outer combat zone," Graham retorted, not at all offended by the rebuke. He grinned at the face of his subordinate on the screen, with its neat brown hair and those big glasses.

"You oughta know by now, Sir Howard," Captain Sir Daryl Dodge's face, dark and chiselled with long red hair, appeared on the screen next to that of Sir Howard. "The Major never lets anything get in the way of his love life!"

"Sir Daryl is quite right!" Graham smirked. He allowed his subordinates to act like that, because unlike some officers, he could cope with a little backtalk. When he needed to put his foot down, it went down hard, and no mistake.

He held the picture of Villetta Nu in his mind a few moments longer. Her golden eyes, her turquoise hair, that bronze skin. He saw her curvaceous form in his mind, her hips swaying as she walked, every subtle movement touching off an inferno within him.

He let the image fade. Battle was upon him.

"Status check!" he called, running his eyes over his console. "Sir Graham Aker! Checked and set!"

"Sir Howard Mason! Checked and set!"

"Sir Daryl Dodge! Checked and set!"

"Sir Andrei Smirnov!" A new face appeared on his screen, this one long and elegantly sculpted, with very neat brown hair. "Checked and set!"

"Dame Soma Peries!" The youngest in his squad, and the only girl, Soma Peries was a newly-minted Devicer, rated by her instructors as one of the best they had ever seen. Her silver-white hair framed her face, covering her forehead in a cross-hatching style. Her golden eyes reminded him of Villetta. "Checked and set!"

"Command Squad Aker, checked, set, and done!" He switched his comm to the other transports. "All units report in!"

"A Platoon! Checked, set, and done!"

"B Platoon! Checked, set, and done!"

"C Platoon! Checked, set, and done!"

He had a full company of knightmares under his command. At full strength this made 60 machines, but the command squad was short by two, himself occupying one of the empty slots. Strictly speaking Captain Dodge was the company's commander, but RPI officers, like those of the Imperial Marines, were fighters first and foremost. Thus, though a Major, he would accompany them into battle.

That made for 59 machines, out of the 300 that would be deployed that day. They flew into battle aboard ten _Albatross_ transports, bloated things with forward-sweeping wings, each of which carried six of the horseshoe-shaped UAVs that carried the knightmares down to the ground. Despite the armoured fuselage around himself and his squad, and the seven radar-guided quad-guns, Graham was still glad that the enemy had no meaningful SAM capability. He didn't fear complications, but he didn't welcome them either.

"Clarence!" he called to his pilot. "Sound off!"

"All systems green!" Clarence called back, his voice crackling over the comm. "Screens are clear! Drop zone in T-minus 30!"

Graham felt a slight shudder in his frame around him, and knew that it was nothing compared to what the transport's crew would be going through. The ten aircraft were, he knew, diving straight for the drop zone, engines at maximum. It was lunacy, but there was no other way. To fly low and slow was to get killed, and the ADKC's way was to go in fast and hard.

He willed his beating heart to still. If the rebels had _anything_ that remotely posed a threat, he would know about it by now.

"Drop zone in T-minus 10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…Release!"

Graham gripped the controls hard as the UAV slid from the _Albatross_' rear hatch. His screen flashed into life as the transporter's systems came fully online. He could see the rear of the _Albatross_, getting smaller and smaller, his squad-mates sliding out as he had done.

Ignoring the shuddering, he gripped the controls, easing the UAV into a downward spiral, bleeding off the speed. The wind buffeted him, but he held on, watching the speedometer falling. His squad-mates fell in behind him, the five UAVs spiralling down to the ground like falling leaves. Lower, and lower, and lower.

Trained instinct told him he was low enough. He eased the controls, levelling off and slowing to a halt. He hit the Drop button, and felt himself swing forward, his _Gloucester_ descending on its Slash Harkens. He touched down with a clunk, the anchors retracting. He hit the button to dismiss the UAV, the horseshoe drone turning and skimming away. He checked his screen.

"All units report in!"

"Platoon A! Down and ready!"

"Platoon B! Down and ready!"

"Platoon C! Down and ready!"

His screen confirmed it, his knightmares appearing as blue icons on the landscape. They had all made it down.

"All right then!" he exclaimed, readying himself for battle. "Let's see what this Japan Liberation Front can do!"

* * *

It was all going well so far.

So Alexander thought as he drove his _Gloucester_ up the mountainside. Spread out around him were the purple _Gloucesters_ of Princess Cornelia's Regiment of Knightmare Guards, steadily climbing the steep rocky slope. Behind him were the _Sutherland_s attached to the 2nd Division, the infantry scrambling over the rocks further down. With any luck, he would not need their assistance.

"Stay close to me, Rai," he said, glancing at his screen to see that his understudy was in place.

"Yes sir," Rai replied, without hesitation. Alexander was not particularly worried, at least not for the moment. Rai was handling his _Gloucester_ with the skill he would expect of a full knight, keeping up despite the rough terrain. But the real test would come soon.

"All units," Alexander keyed the command channel. "Maintain formation and stay alert. Watch for enemy infantry in the undergrowth and rocks. There's a good chance they have knightmares too. If it doesn't show the right code, assume hostile."

"Yes General Alex!"

Alexander suppressed a shiver of irritation. He had yet to shake off that annoying nickname. That they used it showed what they thought of him, the young favourite with too much ambition.

Well, he would just have to prove them wrong.

"Sir!" It was Rai again. "Thermal contact up ahead! It's close to the ground!"

"_Infantry_," Alexander thought. He pictured them creeping through the undergrowth, trying to stay out of sight. If they got close enough to fire off an RPG they could be problem, more so if they had ATGMs. Their homing systems could chase down his knightmares, especially in such rough terrain. And their firepower made them overkill.

Something else caught his eye. It was movement, just above a rock bluff to his front. He saw it emerge at the top of the bluff. It was painted green, with two narrow cylinders extending from it.

"Gun turret!" he roared. His fellow guardsmen reacted, scattering as the turret opened fire. The shells struck the empty ground, showering the knightmares with earth and rocks.

He had seen such turrets before, in so many other fortresses across Area 11. They appeared to be converted mine carts, rigged with armour and a couple of guns, though only capable of manual targeting. That they were so common was not such a surprise, since practically all of the former Japan's mines had been owned by the same clique of Corporations, meaning they all used pretty much the same equipment. He had dealt with them enough times not to be particularly concerned, but nor was he inclined to be overconfident.

"Rai!" he barked. "Grenade!"

"Yes sir!" Rai fired off a grenade from his Assault Rifle. Alexander watched the tiny black shape arc through the air to land just next to the turret. It blew apart in a flash of light, the bang catching up a moment later.

But that was not the first thing on Alexander's mind.

He had seen them. Three shapes rising from the ground just under the bluff. They appeared to be _Glasgow_s, painted green and black. They came on, Assault Rifles aimed straight at him and Rai.

"All units! Enemy knightmares active!"

The _Gloucesters _and _Sutherlands_ were already firing, as yet more enemies emerged from the ground. They came on, weapons blazing, the _Burai_ knightmares of the Japan Liberation Front. It was their last stand, their last contribution, giving their lives that some of their comrades might escape.

The Britannians gunned them down.

Alexander brought up his Machine Pistols, reticules sliding over two of the oncoming knightmares. He squeezed both triggers, blowing them both away in a hail of bullets. A quick, textbook burst from Rai put down the third.

"Well shot Rai!" And it was. Alexander had seen his young protégé put his burst neatly through the _Burai_'s neck. Since the _Burai_ happened to be leaning forward as it came on, the shots had gone straight into the cockpit. It was a difficult shot to pull off.

"Thank you Sir Alexander!" Alexander then realised that he and Rai were some distance ahead of the others. He reached for the comm button, ready to call the Royal Guards to order.

Then he felt it.

It was a trembling in his knightmare's chassis. He ran a quick check, but the servos showed green. He looked around, and saw the ground shuddering, motes of dust and even small rocks bouncing up and down.

He spun his knightmare around, looking straight up the mountain. The ground itself seemed to be moving, distending as the earth shifted underneath it.

"All units!" he yelled. "Form on me!"

But it was already too late. The ground moved all at once, coming down in a great wave of thick mud and jagged boulders. The 2nd Division was right in its path, and even as Alexander called to them, screamed at them to move out of the way, the wave swamped them. He saw the knightmares go down, drowning in the muddy torrent. He could hear their screams over the comm, a sound he knew even then would haunt him for all eternity. Down the mountain it went, engulfing the hapless infantry below, rushing on towards the Settlement, which fortunately had been evacuated. The brown tide extended as far as Alexander could see. It was as if half the mountain was coming down.

And then the bluff exploded. Shards of rock flew past, driven on by a roaring jet of boiling water, more mud following behind. Alexander managed to yank back the controls, reversing his knightmare out of danger, but Rai was just a little too slow. Just as it seemed he had made it, a jagged shard caught his _Gloucester_'s right leg, tearing it from under him. His knightmare fell to the ground, and the torrent ran over the ruined legs, threatening to drag him away.

"Sir Alexander!" Rai screamed in stark terror.

Alexander did not think, he merely did. There were too many people he had failed, too many he had lost. He would _not_ let that innocent, bright-eyed boy who admired him so be snatched away.

The Slash Harkens flew, wrapping around the torso and cockpit of Rai's stricken knightmare. It stopped, and Alexander felt the strain as the river of mud sucked at it, unwilling to give up its victim without a fight. He leaned his knightmare back, bracing its feet, retracting the Slash Harkens. The coiling motors whined as they strained, trying as they might to haul the other knightmare to safety. All the while the torrent roared on, the sound filling the air, as loud as waves upon cliffs.

For an instant, Alexander knew he would fail. He knew that this would not work, that he could not save Rai, as he could not save any of the others. He was fighting nature itself, a battle that no man could hope to win.

His curse was upon him. It was the curse that had taken Lady Marianne from him. It was the curse that had taken Prince Lelouch and Princess Nunnally from him. It was the curse of weakness, of failure, that forbade him to protect those he loved. It danced mockingly in front of him, always just out of reach. No matter how much stronger he became, he could never defeat it.

"_You cannot save him_," it whispered into his shivering heart. "_I will have my due. You will not deny me. If you keep him from me, I will take someone else, far more precious to you than him. And it will be your fault, and yours alone. Because it is your sin that fated my being._"

He ignored it. He reached his knightmare's hands to the cables, pulling on them to draw Rai in. For what seemed like an eternity he pulled, defying the voice that tormented him, defying the flood.

Rai's _Gloucester_ slid onto the dry ground.

"Are you all right, Rai?" His voice was hoarse.

"I'm all right, Sir Alexander." Rai's voice was hoarse also, but there was a fervour in it that Alexander had never heard before. "You saved my life, Sir Alexander."

"Hold still." Alexander walked his _Gloucester_ over to the ruined knightmare. The legs had been torn away, and what remained was bent and warped by the pounding of heavy rocks. He reached his mechanical hands down, and peeled the cockpit open, letting Rai climb out.

"Sir Alexander, you must go!" Rai shouted up to him. "You have to find the Viceroy!"

"I can't just leave you here!" Alexander protested. "This land isn't safe!"

"I can make it on foot!" Rai began tugging at something inside his cockpit. He emerged a moment later with a small backpack and a carbine. "Please trust me, Sir Alexander!" He looked straight into his _Gloucester_'s Factsphere, and Alexander saw something in those vivid blue eyes. He saw in them a knight's strength.

And a noble heart.

"Be careful, Rai."

* * *

"Status report!"

"We're still trying to confirm!"

"Your Highness fall back! You're in danger there!"

"I don't care, forget about me!" Cornelia li Britannia snapped, as everything fell apart around her. "Find out about Darlton! And where's Alex!"

But no one seemed to have an answer. The comm was a cacophony of panic-stricken voices as her subordinates' discipline collapsed.

Rage and frustration boiled within her. She had given them _everything_, every fibre of her being, to turn Britannia's sclerotic, useless army into a fighting force worthy of the name Imperial. She had endured their condescension, which had turned into mockery, and then into anger, and then hatred. She had encouraged those who had potential, rewarded the faithful, dismissed the worthless and punished the criminal. She had taken their slush-fund of an army, their refuge of the mediocre, and fashioned it into a host fit for Caesar or Bonaparte to lead.

And it was falling apart all around her. They were giving in to fear, to panic, to animal instinct. They were running around like headless chickens, or crouching in holes like frightened rabbits, screaming for someone to give them orders.

Was it truly so bad? Had so many of her officers been killed that the units simply could not recover? Could such a calamity have happened?

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. A pall of dust hung in the air over the muddy slick, the main force of it having passed by. It was now crashing through the Settlement below, the white buildings slipping under the brown tide.

"New enemy force confirmed moving in from the summit," called one of her staff officers from the GCV. "Carius' unit is moving to engage them."

"Hoping to take advantage of all the confusion are they?" Cornelia thought aloud. She had to hand it to the JLF, for being so ruthless as to bring down the mountain on their own troops, and their own base. It only surprised her that they could have been so desperate. Had her encirclement been more effective than she realised?

"Emergency call from Carius' unit!" came the staff officer's voice again, this time on the verge of panic.

"What's wrong?"

"It's not the Japan Liberation Front! They think it's…the Black Knights!"

"What!" Her heart skipped a beat. "Then it's…!"

_

* * *

_

_Zero_.

The word spread through the Britannian troops like wildfire. The Black Knights had come. They had brought down the mountain, and they had come for Cornelia.

Alexander pressed harder on the pedals, as if he could will the _Gloucester_ to go faster, rocks and trees flashing past. He _had _to find his Princess. He _had _to protect her. He could not be delayed.

His eyes flashed over his screen. Carius' tanks registered as lost, and the only other Britannians he could find were the Purists, along with two icons marked as Unidentified. One hung back, while the other was tearing its way through the Purists, downing two in rapid succession. What could be so powerful?

"_Have they knightmares as powerful as ours?_" Alexander thought. "_Or more so?_"

He could see more contacts, moving swiftly through the forest, friendly icons winking out as they came on.

"Waldstein to Command!" he snapped into his comm. "Can anyone hear me! This is Waldstein!"

"Alexander!" replied a young woman's frightened voice. "Is that you?"

"Princess Euphemia!" He recognized the voice immediately. "What's the situation? Where's the Viceroy?"

"I'm sending her position! Please hurry Alexander! There are two unidentified units coming up behind her!" The new icons appeared on his screen. Sure enough, there was the Princess, with Guilford and some of her Guardsmen and some army _Sutherlands. _But, as Euphemia had said, two contacts were approaching along a nearby valley, shielded from Cornelia's view by a line of trees.

She would not see them coming.

"Understood, your Highness!" he replied. "I won't fail!"

Alexander returned his attention to the main screen, easing his knightmare around and aiming it at his Princess' position. He gritted his teeth as the two unidentified contacts became four knightmares. He hissed in frustration as they threw themselves upon the Royal Guards, moving more swiftly than anything he had seen thus far, apart from that one machine tearing up the Purists.

Every moment was an agony, even if only seconds passed. Every instant was a dagger in his heart, even as he flew to his Princess' side.

The tree line was up ahead, the one thing keeping him from her. He pulled in his legs, drawing up the foot pedals, causing his knightmare's legs to bend. He reached maximum speed, hurtling straight for the trees.

He pressed down with all his strength. His _Gloucester _leapt, sailing over the trees. Alexander looked down.

There were four of them left. Three Royal Guard _Gloucesters_ standing back to back with Guilford, fending off what looked like five _Burai_s.

But where was the Princess?

The five enemies actually paused, looking up at him in what might have been bewilderment. They broke away as he came in to land, slewing around the cluster of _Gloucesters _in a wide arc, Landspinners shrieking.

"Better late than never!" Guilford snapped half joyful, half wrathful.

"Lord Guildford! Where's the Viceroy!"

"Heading for Point Nine!" Guilford replied, desperate. "Sir Alexander, you have to…!"

But the five enemies were charging again. Closer than before, Alexander could see that they were not really _Burai_s at all. They were similar in appearance, but from their heads sprouted long horns reaching out over their backs, like those of an antelope, or the mythical Kirin. The cockpit and chassis were painted dark brown, the arms and legs a lighter brown. They carried curved swords, the edges glowing a fiery orange. These they carried one-handed, bringing them up to strike as they came on.

"Alexander Waldstein!" yelled one of them, charging straight at him. "In the name of Japan, face me!"

Alexander was only happy to oblige. He brought up his Machine Pistols, firing rapidly. But the enemy was agile, seeming to drift back and forth across the ground, as if it were made from living water. He was reminded of Seraphaum, of the man he had faced there, who was just too fast, too agile.

He slewed sideways as the enemy chopped down, the glowing sword slashing through empty air. As he came around in a smooth arc, he holstered his pistols, activating the Stun Tonfa on his knightmare's wrists. The enemy came on again, striking at him with consummate skill. As he parried the hissing blows, Alexander knew his enemy was not merely a capable pilot, but one familiar with the usage of swords.

"_The Four Holy Swords_."

It must be them. He knew of no other Elevens who could fight half so well as the _Shisei-Ken_, the famed elite of the JLF, the bodyguards of Tohdoh the Miraculous.

He glanced to one side, and saw the other enemy, the one whose arms and legs were off-white rather than light brown. That one was fighting Guilford, fighting him to a standstill.

Was that him? Was that the miracle-worker, who had surprised his enemies at Itsukushima? Was he the one on whom the Elevens, also called Japanese, laid their hopes?

Had Zero come to supplant him?

His opponent was not done with him. Alexander pulled on his joysticks in practiced motions, parrying and blocking as the enemy attacked. The enemy was fierce, energetic, and Alexander felt his muscles ache as defended himself. He knew he could not go on defending for long.

He broke away, reversing as the enemy chased after him. Then he stopped, letting him close the gap, sword thrusting for his plastron, ready to spear straight through. As the right moment came, Alexander pressed his feet down and out.

His knightmare did the splits, dropping down and sliding right. Time slowed as the enemy flashed past. But Alexander was beyond noticing. He brought up his right Stun Tonfa, his last measure of will and faith driving it into the enemy's hands, clasped about the sword-hilt.

They connected, and the enemy's wrists burst up from his forearms, taking the glowing sword with them. Alexander straightened up as the enemy tried to turn, reaching up to catch the blade as it fell. Clasping it as best he could, he brought it down in an overhead stroke, cutting through the enemy's arm at the shoulder. The cockpit leapt back in a flash of propellant and a cloud of smoke, rocketing away beyond the trees.

As the abandoned frame collapsed to the ground, Alexander frantically prized the severed hands from the hilt, allowing him to grip it properly. He looked up, taking in the battle. Guilford was still fighting the leader, but two of the Guardsmen were down, the survivor being menaced by the three other enemies.

But they had seen him, and what he had done to their comrade. One stayed on the Guardsman, the other two flanking around the struggling pairs to come at him from right and left. Fortunately the sword seemed to have its own power source, continuing to glow as Alexander brought it up. Close up, he saw that the edge was like that of a chainsaw, consisting of countless glowing blades linked together.

He knew little of the sword arts of old Japan, so he held the curved blade as he might a sabre, the closest approximation he knew. He held it in a high guard position, blade curving down, as the two enemies came on.

He broke left, heading straight for that one. Even as the other curved around to come in behind him, he slashed down with the sword, the enemy catching it on his own blade. He let himself crash into the enemy knightmare, reversing suddenly as the enemy was sent tottering backwards. He brought up his free left arm as the other attacked.

But the other enemy was trickier than that. He twisted the blade as it came down, and Alexander let out a yell as it chopped down through his knightmare's arm. He spun, catching the uppercut, then broke away, the two Holy Swords crossing over as they readied to flank him again.

He glanced at the left arm, and saw only a sparking stump. He looked up, expecting to see the other Shisei-ken coming at him.

Instead there was only one enemy. As the other three set about menacing Guilford and the surviving guardsman, the white-painted leader had broken off.

It stared at him, as if weighing him up, wondering what this creature was that had caused it such trouble. Alexander could almost sense its spirit, its will reaching out, trying to read him, to dominate him.

He brought up the sword, his sword now, to guard. The enemy shifted into a combat stance. Alexander could hear his heart pounding.

The enemy charged.

And Alexander did not think. He dared not think, lest he be destroyed.

He merely did.

He charged also. His sword came down as the enemy's came up. They met for an instant as they passed, teeth jarring and screeching, coming apart. They halted.

Alexander turned, the enemy did likewise. It stared at him again, and Alexander prepared for another attack.

But the enemy did not attack.

It turned on its heel. Alexander stared in disbelief as the enemy withdrew, followed soon after by its subordinates.

The battle was over.

* * *

"So Zero escaped again?"

"The Japan Liberation Front hammered our defences," Guilford explained, as he, Cornelia, and Alexander strode along the corridor. "He slipped away in the confusion."

"Despicable, using someone else to cover his movements," Cornelia's lip curled in disgust. "Oh, what about Kururugi?"

"He's safe now. We had to wait until his energy filler ran out to finally stop him."

"Stop him?" Cornelia was incredulous, as was Alexander. "From what? Was there a problem with his unit?" Guilford paused, choosing his words. There, in the sterile security of the M-1 base, what he had seen was harder to credit than out there on the battlefield.

"Apparently," he eventually replied, as they stepped through into Cornelia's office, "it was going bezerk."

That was an understatement. The word hardly compared to what he had seen, the _Lancelot_ firing off its weapon at random, the pilot screaming like a damned soul.

"A failure unworthy of my older brother's forces." If Cornelia was half as perturbed as her knight was, she made no show of it. "Some malfunction?"

"No, your Highness. Apparently the pilot suffered some sort of mental or nervous breakdown." Guilford actually sounded concerned.

"I see," Cornelia replied, something in her tone implying that she did not like what she saw. "Unfortunate. It so happens that I owe him my life."

"I have no excuse, your Highness."

Guilford was ashamed, humiliated. It was his greatest responsibility, overriding all others, to remain at his Princess' side. He had allowed himself to be drawn into a battle, and had failed to protect her when she needed him the most. Only the last-minute intervention of Suzaku Kururugi and the _Lancelot_ had saved her from capture or death. He had then pursued Zero and disabled his knightmare, only to somehow snap and start firing at anything and nothing, Zero slipping away as he did so.

"Guilford, don't go blaming yourself again," Cornelia sighed wearily. "This battle has not been _anyone_'s finest hour."

"Princess, if anyone must take the blame, it should be me." Both Cornelia and Guilford rounded on Alexander as he spoke. "It was my fault for getting drawn into the battle around Lord Guilford."

Cornelia regarded him sternly for a long time.

"Guilford, leave us a moment," she commanded. Guilford bowed and stalked out, the door sliding shut behind him.

"Your fault?" Cornelia asked. "Your fault for lending Guilford a hand instead of racing manfully to my side?"

"Yes, your Highness." The sardonic tone made Alexander nervous.

"Does the life of my personal knight mean so little to you?" she wondered. "I thought you two were friends."

"We are!" Alexander blurted out, before checking himself. "That is to say, I have always regarded Lord Guilford as a most kind friend, your Highness."

"Alexander," Cornelia's tone switched to one of exasperated patience. "Lord Guilford will insist on treating me like one of his women. I tolerate it because such a combination of loyalty and ability as exists in him is extremely hard to find. That does not mean I will tolerate it in you, however."

"I would rather die than offend you, Princess." And Alexander meant it.

"Then do not offend me," she retorted, somewhat coldly. "Do not leap to defend me at the expense of your fellows. Do not sacrifice the mission to my safety. Do _not_," she almost snapped the word, "think I am so weak that I need protection. Am I understood?"

"Yes, your Highness." Alexander was _very_ unsettled. He was no accustomed to such harshness from her. It reminded him of that day eight years earlier.

But then, Cornelia seemed to soften, some of the cold leaving her countenance.

"I have heard from your young protégé, Rai," she said, her voice lighter. "He tells me that you saved him from the landslide. He admires you very much, you know." There was a sparkle in her eyes.

"I could not leave him to die, your Highness."

"You also managed to save Lord Guilford and Guardsman Austin," she went on. "Hardly cause for shame on your part. What is more, you defeated one of Kyoshiroh Tohdoh's Four Holy Swords in personal combat. _And _stole his sword." Cornelia paused, letting the revelation sink in. "That is most likely why the so-called miracle worker spared your life. Either that or his Energy Filler was running low."

"I…am grateful for your kind words, your Highness." Alexander bowed his head. "If you will forgive my impudence, your Highness, will I be permitted to keep the sword?"

"Of course."

Cornelia's eyes sparkled, and Alexander understood something of the devotion Guilford and Darlton showed her.

**

* * *

**

**(I can only apologise for the delay. I've been snowed-under with a lot of things. **

**In handling Narita, I wanted to try a different approach to simply retelling the battle as we all know it. I wanted to focus on Alexander's perspective, and in so doing give the Black Knights and Tohdoh a sense of mystery and otherness. I wanted to bring across something of the 'fog of war' and the sense of disconnection and isolation one might feel in battle. I hope this has worked out.**

**Incidentally, I had Lelouch spin a yarn for Kallen because it seemed the logical thing for him to do. While he and Kallen are at Ashford Academy, she represents a potential threat, in that she might find something incriminating by accident (the incident with Arthur and the mask was a close-run thing). I reckoned that Lelouch could head off her suspicions by telling her that the Lelouch she knows is an agent in his service. This would explain any strange behaviour on his part, while ensuring that Kallen will not snoop (she is more likely to respect Zero's orders than Lelouch's privacy). The reason he has to spin this yarn is because of the Luluko incident, which would not happen without Alexander/Soran/Setsuna existing in this continuity.) **


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_**Narita Mountains, Area 11, June 2017 ATB **_

The sun was bright, searing down on the soldiers as they worked. The air was full of the sound of their labour, the rumble and clunk of machinery, as they cut into the dried mud that had, only days earlier, come sliding down the mountain, wreaking havoc on all it touched. Knightmare frames pitched in, lifting great boulders, grasping tree trunks and smaller rocks in their dextrous hands, moving away the debris that the men might work easier.

But there was little cheer among the soldiers as they hacked at the drying mud. It had been a full day since a living survivor had been found.

What they did find was sent to the tents further down the mountain. There they would be identified, if at all possible, then labelled and bagged, ready to be loaded onto the trains for Tokyo Settlement. There, whomsoever it might concern could take charge of them, or else they would be disposed of.

But not the military dead, not those found in uniform. The soldiers carried these themselves, with what dignity and tenderness they could find within themselves. The honoured dead were their own, and not mere refuse for the furnaces.

Lieutenant Sir Alexander Waldstein had watched them all through the day. All through several days in fact, since the horrific business that was already being called the Battle of Narita. He had remained behind, with Princess Cornelia's permission, while the rest of her army had returned to Tokyo Settlement.

By all accounts the battle had been a victory for Britannia. Alexander supposed that it was, at least, if you looked at it in the correct light. The Japan Liberation Front, the foremost rebel organization in Area 11, had lost its primary base, and the bulk of its known combat strength lay dead on the slopes. They had broken the JLF's back, wiped out the trained personnel so vital to the maintenance of equipment and the training of new recruits, destroyed its knightmares, and tanks, and gun turrets, and the facilities and tools needed to maintain them.

Except…

Except that they had failed. They had failed to take the base intact, as was their original intent. They had failed to capture any prisoners, though the JLF's fanaticism would have made that difficult in any case. They had failed to find the lists, the secret documents, the evidence that would have torn the heart out of the Area 11 resistance, and allowed Princess Cornelia to take her fight into the labyrinths of corruption.

It had all been destroyed along with the base, by the landslide that the Order of the Black Knights had unleashed. The Black Knights, who had swarmed down the mountain in the wake of their mudslide to wreak havoc among the disorganized Britannian forces, allowing a few of the JLF to slip through the cordon.

The Black Knights, who had so very nearly taken his Princess.

But that was not why he had remained. Princess Cornelia had forgiven his failures, his imperfections. He had not lingered on in order to redeem himself in her eyes. It was a matter of honour to be sure, of decency, but a matter very different.

A matter of green eyes, and auburn hair, of a charming smile captured in the tones of a photograph.

Alexander strode through the camp, looking for something to take his mind off the waiting. Soldiers saluted him as he passed, and he could see the uncertainty in their countenances. They did not understand why he had remained, fearing that he had been left to keep an eye on them. Alexander had never attracted affection from the common soldiery, and suspected that he never would. The best he could hope for was respect, such as that given to Lord Gilbert Guilford, regarded as one of the finest knights in the Empire. It was a question of doing his job, and doing it well. The men would have no complaints.

He paused for a moment, realizing that he had wandered right through the camp. A tall shape caught his attention, vaguely human in its aspect, gleaming white in the sun.

Alexander knew the knightmare frame _Lancelot_ for what it was. It stood straight and tall, humanoid but for the cockpit, bulging out behind the torso like some over-sized backpack. At either side stood the twin towers of a maintenance gantry, a manipulator arm reaching out from the tower to the _Lancelot_'s left, sliding an Energy Filler into its slot below the cockpit.

A woman in the orange uniform of the Imperial Army Corps of Engineers stood bent over a console. Nearby were two more figures, both male. One was tall and lanky, with silver-grey hair, wearing what appeared to be a white lab-coat. The other was shorter and stockier, wearing a white g-force suit, with soft brown hair and a face twisted in fury and grief. It was a face he had seen before.

"Oh my," the tall man commented, glancing at the newcomer. "If it isn't Lord Waldstein the younger. Satisfying your morbid curiosity?"

"No, your lordship" Alexander replied, remembering where he had seen the man's face before. He was irritated by Earl Asplund's levity, but forced himself not to retaliate. The lanky man, with amused green eyes behind oblong spectacles, was Head Researcher of the Advanced Special Envoy Engineering Corps, an organization that enjoyed the patronage of none other than Schneizel el Britannia, Second Prince and Chancellor of the Empire. Alexander had never met him before, though he had heard rumours of the scientist's abrasive personality.

"Aren't you? It's not as if there's much else to see." The Earl gestured at his companion. "I trust you two have met?"

Alexander looked the younger boy in the eyes, and saw the other's face go from grief to mortal terror. His stomach clenched.

"You…you are…"

"Warrant Officer Suzaku Kururugi, my Lord!" The terrified youth managed to snap to attention and salute. Evidently he too had remembered.

"Dear me," Asplund drawled, amused. "I don't think he's forgiven you, _Sailor Suzako_."

"My Lord, I…I apologize profusely!" Suzaku bowed. "I honestly had no idea! I thought Mil…I mean _Miss_ Ashford put you up to it!"

"Never mind, Warrant Officer Kururugi." Alexander had no desire to dredge up the incident. In truth, seeing the young devicer in a skirt had not been the worst of it.

"_Prince Lelouch…_"

He was certain it could not be true. There was no way his Prince could have been there, and _definitely_ not in a dress. The Prince Lelouch he'd known would _never_ have done such a thing.

Well, maybe for Princess Euphemia, or Princess Nunnally.

"I trust that you…recovered?" Alexander asked, deciding to change the subject.

"Uh, yes, my Lord," Suzaku replied. "I…there was some…complication."

"I see."

It was, he suspected, the best answer he was likely to get. The cause of Suzaku Kururugi's bout of madness was a complete mystery, perhaps even to Suzaku himself. He had checked out medically, showing nothing beyond the known symptoms of combat stress, and even that fell within acceptable limits.

There had been talk of _cowardice_, but nothing more than talk. Whether Suzaku Kururugi was fit to continue piloting the _Lancelot_ was up to Prince Schneizel, if he could draw himself away from the business of governing the Empire long enough to deal with the matter. Whether he and the _Lancelot_ would be put to use inside Area 11, however, was up to Princess Cornelia. And as far he knew, the Vicereine had yet to make a decision.

"Incidentally," he went on, "I'm looking for a Joseph Fenette."

"Fenette?" Suzaku's embarrassment turned to horror. "As in Shirley Fenette?"

"He said he had a daughter by that name," Alexander confirmed gravely. "Do you know the family?"

"Only the daughter," Suzaku replied, looking away. His countenance darkened noticeably. "She's in my class."

"I see." Alexander was about to say more, when he saw Suzaku look up suddenly. He turned along the line of his sight, wondering what had caught his attention.

He saw a woman in the purple uniform of a female RPI devicer striding purposefully through the camp. He recognized her as Villetta Nu, a reputed Purist and currently Major Graham Aker's significant other. Behind her were two more women, both with auburn hair, and obviously mother and daughter. One was about middle-aged, with short hair and casual clothes. The other was younger, her hair much longer. She wore a white and beige dress that reached her knees, short white gloves, and white shoes that seemed impractical in her present environment. She had obviously been attending some event, and had come in a hurry, her manner matching the look on her face.

Her face…

It was another face Alexander had seen before. It was the face he had seen on a photograph, belonging to a proud father.

And could be only one reason why Shirley Fenette had come.

_**

* * *

**_

_**Tokyo Settlement, Area 11, June 2017 ATB **_

Allelujah Haptism tried not to feel sad.

Funerals were always hard, but not because someone had died. The departed, in this case Joseph Fenette, was in the presence of God. He could no longer be made to suffer by the fallen world in which he had so briefly resided. He was, as the cliché went, in a better place.

It was dealing with those yet living that was hard. He was a priest of God, called to serve, to advise, to admonish, and to comfort. It was for him to send the dead on their way, and to ease the sorrow of those left behind.

It had gone so well, at first. He had performed the last rites, as he had been taught, and said a few closing words at the graveside.

"_Man is born of woman, he comes forth like a flower and is cut down. His shadow flees, and lingers not. His soul is fled from its tabernacle, as the sun goes down. He was pious, looking always to God. He was flawed and sinful, as are we all. He was to his wife a devoted husband, to his child a loving father, to all who knew him a dear friend. Let us know him for his better self, as we commit his body to the earth, and leave his judgement to him on high, who is eternal love, and who forgives all things. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, amen._"

And then, just as the sextons began their work, it happened. The man's widow had fallen upon her knees, imploring the sextons not to bury her husband a second time. Such was her lamentation that no words of his, or her daughter's, would ease it.

But as with it all things, it had passed. Now the mourners had dispersed, leaving only the departed's daughter, regarding his grave with a sorrow that touched Allelujah's heart. He had watched her for a time, watched her talk with a group of high school students, whom he supposed were her friends. One in particular had caught his attention. It was a boy, of about his age, with black hair that hung about his face, and purple eyes that led into a troubled soul. He had watched him talk with Shirley Fenette, for that was her name, as a brief spurt of rain had fallen. The black-haired boy had withdrawn, and Allelujah had wondered what tormented him so.

For in that moment, he had looked upon a damned soul.

But for now, he had a more immediate duty. A duty to the sorrowful girl in front of him.

She was beautiful, he thought, as he walked over to her. Her auburn hair was long, carefully brushed, plaited around the back at the level of her ears, tied with a black ribbon. Her black dress was stylish, but respectfully so, concealing a body fashioned from thoughts of beauty.

There was no sin in such thoughts, no crime. Unlike the Roman, the Britannian church did not require celibacy from those who served it. But Allelujah did not, _dared_ not, harbour such thoughts.

"_Don't you just wanna take her here and now!_"

_His_ thoughts. _His_ lust. _His_, the dire whisperings of his personal demon, who had tormented him for as long as he could remember.

"Would you like to stay longer?" he asked. The girl started.

"Oh," she relaxed. "Reverend Haptism I…it's okay, I'm done."

"I did not mean to disturb you," Allelujah insisted gently. "If you wish to remain longer, then it will be no difficulty."

"No, thank you." Shirley tittered nervously. "It's all right, really." Deciding to accept her words, Allelujah fell in beside her as they walked slowly away.

"I wanted to thank you…for performing the ceremony." Shirley's words were earnest, but she could not look him in the eye. "I, I know you must be busy, but it made Mom so happy."

"I am a priest of God. I go where I am most needed, as did our Lord."

"All the same, I'm grateful." She was silent for a while, hands clasped demurely in front.

"_I know you love that Daddy's good little girl act!_"

"Reverend Haptism, can I ask you something? In confidence?"

"_Oh yeah! Dirty secrets! This is your chance!_"

"What you say is between us and God, a sacred trust," Allelujah replied, forcing down the voice in the back of his mind.

"I…did something very wrong." Shirley looked down as they walked, her face shrouded in shadow. "With…my friend. I…I was so."

"Go on."

"I kissed him!" Shirley stopped, covering her face in shame. "He was being kind to me, and I took advantage of him! Just because…!" She trailed off.

"Does he know you feel as you do?" Allelujah asked gently, having a shrewd idea of what was going on. "Have you spoken with him?"

"I…I told him just now, that it was a mistake. I meant to apologize, but…"

"_Oooooh, the dirty little slut! Let's take her here and now!_"

"There was no sin in the act, if there was no sin in your heart." Allelujah tried to sound calm, ignoring the vile presence. "To seek comfort is no crime, especially not at such a desperate hour."

"I…I know. I just feel so bad about it."

"It is natural," Allelujah assured her. "It will pass. Do not chastise yourself for such a mistake."

He escorted Shirley to her mother, and having made their farewells the remaining mourners took their leave. The lamentations were complete.

As Allelujah strode away across the cemetery, he found himself thinking once again of the young man Shirley had been talking to before their conversation. He wondered if _he_ was the person Shirley had mentioned, the boy she had kissed. He could not blame her for seeking comfort in the arms of a friend, especially if she had deeper feelings for him. He had seen too much human suffering to be shocked, or to condemn.

And in truth, it was a logical reaction. Assailed by death, she had sought life. Drowning in grief, she had sought love. Alone, she had sought oneness with another, that she might never again be alone.

Allelujah knew something of loneliness. To be alone was not to be physically alone, but to be spiritually alone. It was to be understood by no one, cared for by no one, loved by no one. Such was far worse, far more hurtful, than mere physical isolation. To know that one was worthy to be understood, and loved, was proof against it.

The knowledge had sustained Allelujah Haptism through many trails, over so many years. The remembrance of those golden eyes, and that knowing, indulgent smile, and the love that had come with them.

"_Are you feeling better, Allelujah?_"

She had taught him so much, with only a smile. She had helped him grow, with only a kind word. She had shown him the truth of love, and of generosity. She had proved to him that to give was better than receive, and that love was more powerful than hatred.

And so later, when he was bereft of her, when he had heard of the Open Hand Foundation, he had known he would do.

He would live his life for others. He would give, heal, and console, caring nothing for his own needs. He would seek no reward, nor gratitude, nor even the promise of heaven. To take pride in his work, to believe that he might be storing up a divine treasure, was to assume that he was somehow blessed, somehow set apart. Such was not the way. Such was not _his_ way.

It was enough that he might bring some comfort to others. It was enough that he might have eased that poor girl's sorrow, even if only a little. It was enough, for to have done so was to never be alone.

Not that he was ever _entirely_ alone.

_He_ was always there, lurking in the back of his mind like an unspoken threat. _He_ was never far away, always ready to make himself heard, to voice the thoughts he dared not think, and the desires he dared not desire. _He_ was apt to torment him, to whisper obscenities, to conjure wickedness, to fill his thoughts with horror and darkness.

All of it he suffered. All of it he endured. All of it a cross, that was his to bear.

_Hallelujah_.

He realised that in his reverie he had wandered through the cemetery, into an isolated area surrounded by bushes and trees. He lightly chastised himself, and set about finding his way out.

Then pain lanced through his skull, and he felt himself falling to the ground.

_**

* * *

**_

_**Ashford Academy, Area 11, June 2017 ATB **_

The hot water sluiced down his naked body, sweat and old skin running away under the flow, easing his taught, tired muscles.

But it could not wash away what _truly _sullied him.

Lelouch Lamperouge turned off the tap, and reached for a towel. He wrapped it around himself, wanting to sink into the soft warmth, and forget what had happened.

But he could not forget.

As he pulled on his pants, he saw himself in the mirror. The face staring back at him was haggard and drawn, with dark bags under the eyes. It had been a long time since it had looked that bad, and for much the same reason.

"_I am a murderer._"

Striding out of the bathroom, he saw _her_ sitting on his bed, right where he had left her. The girl, with green hair and a round, finely-sculpted face, sat where she was, clutching something large and yellow wearing a fedora hat. The box in which it had arrived, bearing the Pizza Hut logo, sat on the bed next to her.

"Feeling any cleaner?" CC asked mildly.

"Not really," Lelouch replied, no longer angry with her. "But my head is a lot clearer."

"Oh well, perhaps you can get on with things now."

"You'd like that wouldn't you," Lelouch groused, slouching in his desk chair. "You'd be happier if I devoted my entire existence to fulfilling your contract." He shot her a bitter look. "Should I get rid of Nunnally too? Would that please you?"

"Well," CC mused. "It would be convenient." Lelouch humped and turned his attention to the documents on his desk, hoping that work would take his mind off the events of the day.

His personal issues aside, the campaign was a near unmitigated success. The Black Knights were growing in number all the time, so much so that he would have to reorganize them _again_. The most immediate problems lay in maintaining the supply of equipment and in finding places to train personnel.

With Cornelia clamping down at every turn, the usual methods just weren't working any more. Even if they did, they could not provide weapons, tools, and knightmares, in the amounts that he would soon need. But all that equipment was worse than useless without people trained in its use, and while he had enough trained personnel to teach the rest, he was running out of places in which they could train. Live fire training was a particular problem, for although his followers would be of little use without it, it was not something that could be done in the ghettoes.

"There's nothing to be done for it," he said. "I'm going to have to establish…_relations_ with some of the warlords."

"And the idea disgusts you?" CC wondered aloud.

"Let's just say they're not the most…_pleasant_ of company."

That was an understatement. Aside from those regions with useful raw materials, or those of historical interest or some natural beauty, Area 11's interior was largely ignored by the Britannians who claimed to rule over it. Those places were of little apparent value, and had not been considered worth the expense of pacification and development. With Japan's government reduced to a collaborationist clique, and the Imperial overlords disinterested, the internal regions had degenerated into bandit country, were the only law was the law of force. Stories abounded in the settlements; of bandit chiefs riding the hills, of warlords in gold-trimmed uniforms riding around in luxurious armoured trains, of latter-day Daimyo installed in mighty castles, masters of all they surveyed.

"So you'll deal with them in your usual way?"

"Of course." For the first time that whole day, Lelouch actually managed a smile. "It might be fun to own an armoured train."

"Kyoto might not like it."

"Kyoto will not be a problem."

He did not trust the Six Houses of Kyoto, and knew the feeling was mutual. In their guise as the National Administration Council, or NAC, they governed all non-conceded regions of Area 11 on Britannia's behalf, and in Britannia's interest. They had plenty of money, much of it untraceable, but no real power. Their military clout consisted of the lightly-armed remnants of the Japanese police, incapable of taking on even one of the known warlords, let alone the Britannians. They needed groups like the JLF to do the fighting for them, to drive out Britannia so that the Six Houses could retake their accustomed place.

And that was their weakness. It was generally known that they had ruled Japan for the shadows for decades, at least since the end of the First Pacific War, when the Chrysanthemum Throne had surrendered its powers, and Japan had become a theoretically democratic country. Such was their wealth, and the influence that sprung from it, that no Prime Minister could hope to get elected, or get anything done once elected, without their support. This made them powerful, but it also made them resented, especially by those who had sought political or social reform, only to find their efforts stymied, or else simply ignored.

Zero was like nothing they had previously encountered. Zero was not something they could control. Zero had the power to be their undoing.

"Won't they?"

"No they won't," Lelouch repeated. "Because we'll soon have another source of funds."

His train of thought was disturbed by the ringing of his phone. He glanced at the screen as he grabbed it. Unidentified Number.

"Hello?"

"_Hello._" The voice was rich and deep. "_Am I addressing a Mister Lelouch Lamperouge. I have a consignment care of Mister Hernandez_." Lelouch felt his stomach clench.

"I'm afraid Mister Lamperouge is not available," he replied. "He's out from six till nine."

"_I see. Please excuse the disturbance_." The caller rung off. CC watched as Lelouch put down the phone and headed for his suitcase, where he stored his Zero costume and accessories. He unzipped a compartment and pulled out another phone.

It was a special phone, made for him by a rather colourful character he found in the ghetto. Said gentleman, incidentally, had no memory of meeting him, nor of making such a device. It looked little different from any other phone on the outside, but under the cover were a number of very clever, and highly illegal, modifications. Just possessing it would get him several years in prison.

Sure enough, it rang.

"Sorry for the inconvenience," he said. "But I can't have anyone listening."

"_I trust I am speaking to Zero?_"

"Yes."

"_Excellent, though I would prefer a face-to-face meeting. There are some things I need to discuss._"

"Very well." Lelouch thought fast. "There is a place where my personal representative can meet you without arousing too much suspicion."

"_Your _personal_ representative,_" the voice mused, emphasising the word 'personal', as if wondering whether or not to object. "_How personal, exactly?_"

"Anything you tell him will go directly to me, and no one else. He has my complete confidence." There was a pause.

"_Very well. Where is the venue?_"

"The Black King Club, on Prince Clovis Boulevard. Ask for Lelouch Lamperouge, and say you're his uncle. Everything will be ready."

"_Very good. I'll see you there._"

"You're not going as Zero?" CC asked, as Lelouch slipped the phone back into its compartment and returned the suitcase to its hiding place.

"I need to keep him at a distance for now," Lelouch replied. He headed for the door, then paused, turning to glance at his accomplice. "And don't make a mess while I'm out."

_**

* * *

**_

"What's up?"

"What?" Villetta Nu started, disturbed from her reverie.

"You were just staring into space," Graham Aker was regarding her from the other side of the small table. "What's with you tonight?"

"It's nothing." Villetta sighed. "It's just…well, everything."

"I assume it's because you're still chasing Zero single-handed." Graham gave her a patient look. "That's enough to stress anyone out."

"It's important, Graham!" Villetta's gold eyes flashed. "I have to find him. I have to bring him in, to prove what happened. It's the only way I'll get back what he took from me." Graham sighed.

He understood what Villetta was going through, perhaps better than she realized. She had not fallen quite so far as Jeremiah Gottwald, her former benefactor, but she had fallen nonetheless. She had managed to lose her _Sutherland_, apparently just giving it to some youth she encountered in Shinjuku ghetto, on the day Prince Clovis was killed. Villetta had managed to avoid formal charges, but the loss of the knightmare, and the suspicions surrounding it, were nevertheless a black mark on her record, as was association with the disgraced Gottwald. If she wanted to get back on the ladder, she would have to do something big, so big that the powers-that-be would be content to let her black mark get swept under the carpet.

"If it's your career you're worried about, just transfer to my unit!" he insisted. "I can see to it no problem."

"No Graham." Villetta returned his gaze, eyes blazing with the strength and determination that had drawn him to her, not so long ago. "If I do that, then everyone will say it is because we are…" She trailed off.

"So what if they do?" Graham shot her a smile. "You think I care what people think of me? I couldn't get anything done if I did!"

"Well maybe you should," Villetta retorted. "Reputation counts for more than you think in this woman's army."

"I'm a man, babes."

"That's no excuse."

There was a pause, then both burst out laughing.

"There," Graham managed to say. "Feel any better?"

"A bit." Villetta sighed, even as she felt the stress and anger drain out of her. "I just…I just feel like if I let my guard down for one minute, I'll miss my big chance."

"Seriously babes," Graham refilled her glass. "Lucky breaks come in battles, and there'll be plenty more the way things are going. You'll get your chance. Can't you just relax, just for tonight?"

Villetta stopped herself from laughing at the puppy-dog look he gave her, but allowed him a smile nonetheless.

"I suppose one night won't hurt," she admitted, with exaggerated reluctance. "What made you choose this place?"

"Well, I reckoned we could try somewhere more sophisticated." Graham made an expansive gesture, encompassing the whole of the club's lounge. Villetta had to admit that the place was high-class, at least by colonial standards. The gleaming floors and walls, the gilt decoration, the soft seats, and the neatly-dressed, soft-spoken waiters and waitresses, most of them Elevens. It gave Villetta a taste of luxury, of the possibilities that awaited her in the higher echelons of Britannian society.

Were it not for Zero, that is.

"It's nice," she admitted. "It's just…"

"Just?"

"I can't help feeling, as if something will be pass me by, if I let my guard down for even a moment."

"Well babes," Graham replied, chuckling, "I used to feel the same way back when I first graduated. If you go on that way, you'll just run yourself into the ground."

"I guess you're right."

The pair smiled, drank, talked, and laughed.

And neither of them noticed the young man with the black hair whom the proprietor was showing to a private room.

* * *

"Good evening," said that same rich voice from before, as the door slid shut behind Lelouch. "I trust I am addressing Zero's representative?"

"You are." Lelouch stepped around the enormous armchair and sat down, facing his guest. The older man regarded him from the other side of the table, on which sat a Chess board, every piece in it s proper place. He wore a finely-tailored black suit that fit his muscular physique perfectly, and his posture was easy while implying that Lelouch held his full attention. A mane of dark red hair crowned an oblong face narrowing to a strong chin, wearing an easygoing smile.

His eyes were narrow, and cold. Lelouch had to force himself not to appear disturbed, or in any way unsettled. He could not afford to give him the upper hand so early on.

"Good. I must say your boss chose an…_unusual_ venue."

"I like to play high-stakes Chess matches," Lelouch replied, trying to sound as easy as the other man did. "It means I can come here without arousing any particular interest. Also, I pulled the proprietor's fat out of the fire a few times, so he's generally willing to help me." He smiled a little wider. "We can talk here in confidence."

"Very well then. Oh, but _where_ are my manners?" The man with the demonic eyes stood up and offered his hand. "Ali Al-Saachez, at your service."

"Lelouch Lamperouge, at yours." Lelouch did likewise, and they shook once before sitting down again. "Zero understands that EUROSEC has taken an interest in the situation here in Japan, and that you are their chosen representative. But we were told there would a full team."

"Don't beat about the bush do you," Hamid commented dryly. "There is a full team, but they're in a safe place for the moment, with orders to hightail it out of Japan if they don't hear from me. As for our mission, the EU wishes for Britannia's illegal and inhumane occupation of the sovereign nation of Japan to end with all expediency. For that purpose, I have been sent to evaluate the capabilities of those Japanese organizations who seek the same goal, and to oversee their inclusion in a wider strategy. That…is the _official_ version."

"Really?" Lelouch commented, not liking his tone. "So what is _your _version?"

"My version?" Hamid paused a moment. "The EU wants Britannia out of Japan yesterday, and they need someone they can work with. In other words, someone who can be relied on not to screw them over afterwards."

"Someone who'll do the EU's bidding you mean," Lelouch retorted. To his surprise, the man he knew as Ali Al-Saachez chuckled.

"I wouldn't put it past the powers-that-be to hold out for something like that. But mostly they just want someone who can hold Japan together and not make the same old stupid mistakes. Some cut-price sakuradite would be nice too, if he can possibly manage it, but they'd probably settle for Britannia _not_ having it."

"And they think Zero may be the man for the job?"

"Let's say they're willing to give him a chance," Hamid replied. "And your boss could do a lot worse than enjoy the EU's friendship, if he means to rule this country."

"Zero's desire is not to rule," Lelouch insisted, fighting down outrage. "It is to liberate. His desire is to destroy Britannia, and create a gentler world."

"Why yes, of course" Hamid mocked, in that rich, deep, devilish voice. "But for that he will need power, and the most obvious way to get power would be to gain control of this country. If he wants to destroy Britannia, all he has to do is withhold the sakuradite for a few months, a year at the most, and bring their economy crashing down. So let us dispense with the rhetoric for the moment, and focus on the practicalities at hand."

"Very well." Lelouch was profoundly irritated. He disliked the man's supercilious manner, and the way he mocked his cherished dream. He found himself wondering just what sort of man the EU had foisted on him.

"If Zero wants to rule this country, he can do it. Unlike most terrorists, he has both the sense and the will to keep his hands clean, as opposed to losing his rag and blowing away unarmed civilians. That sort of thing can be satisfying, but it tends to upset the chattering classes. _Comprenez-vous?_"

"_Parfaitment._"

"The biggest single obstacle to Zero ruling this country, aside from the Britannians, is the Six Houses of Kyoto. They back various groups in the hope of regaining their former power, the attraction being an easy source of money and weapons, as well as a certain legitimacy. If Zero wants to rule, he must bend them to his will, or else destroy them."

"That could be difficult," Lelouch replied, trying not to shiver at the look in the man's eyes. "As you said, they enjoy respect as well as wealth."

"They are respected, but still widely seen as collaborators," Hamid went on. "Zero is popular enough to get away with it. As for the financial side of things," he gave a wicked smile, "the EU is willing to assist, in return for certain assurances."

"What kind of assurances?"

"The usual," Hamid replied airily. "Democracy, human rights, that kind of thing."

"You may tell them," Lelouch stated, with cold certainty, "that they may be assured of Zero's cooperation."

"They'll be glad to hear it. But if you want Kyoto at your mercy, you'll need to deprive them of alternative patsies." There was a strange light in Hamid's eyes. "You'll need to get rid of the JLF." Lelouch felt himself shiver again.

"Why would Zero wish to destroy the JLF?" he asked innocently. "They would probably be willing to fight alongside us. Their goal is, after all, the liberation of Japan."

"That's as may be," Hamid replied indulgently. "But General Tatewaki Katase is not merely a general. He's also carried the Japanese cause on his shoulders for many years. That makes him a _very_ proud man, a man who won't take orders from someone who isn't even Japanese." He paused for effect. "Dissent is all fine and good once Japan is free, but the EU doesn't want to fund your organization only to see it split apart the moment Katase and Zero have a falling-out."

"In other words," Lelouch tried hard to keep his tone level, "you want Katase dead."

"The EU will settle for removed or discredited." Again that diabolic smile. "But you and I know that isn't going to be enough."

_**

* * *

**_

_**Port Yokosuka, Area 11, June 2017 ATB **_

It was a warm night, cooled by an ocean breeze. The waves rolled in, dashing against the harbour walls.

Alexander stood on the dock, the wind blowing the scent of the sea into his nostrils, taking in the venue. He was in the middle of the harbour, standing next to three drydocks located side-by-side. Behind each was a large shed, in which the task force was concealing itself. To his left, as he stood facing the harbour entrance, were rows of warehouses. Beyond them, he knew, was the quarry.

It was a medium-sized freighter, recently constructed if its appearance was anything to go by, but of an old and much-used design. From the telemetry provided by the recon teams, Alexander could see nothing untoward about it, which was exactly as those on board wanted.

But Alexander knew what was happening. He knew that upon that ship were scores, maybe even hundreds, of members of the Japanese Liberation Front. He also knew that General Katase was with them, and that down in the holds were several canisters of liquid sakuradite.

The JLF's war chest, its last treasure, and its last weapon.

Sakuradite was at a premium just about everywhere. In its solid form it was used as a superconductor, usually as part of an alloy, though Britannia had taken to using pure sakuradite in its experiment knightmares. Capable of carrying much higher currents than anything other known substance, sakuradite had made the modern age possible. Since its properties were discovered around a hundred and fifty years earlier, just as the Britannian Empire was being founded, technology had leapt from horses and gunpowder to electromagnetic firearms and jet fighters, computers and knightmare frames.

Sakuradite was indispensible, and if the JLF were to escape, the amount of it Intel believed was on board that ship would fetch a fine price, enough to get the JLF back in the war.

But there was another problem, for the sakuradite in question was _liquid_ sakuradite. The liquefaction process invariably caused sakuradite to absorb large amounts of energy, in which state it was used as the main component of Energy Fillers. The better-refined it was, the more energy a given amount could contain, and the greater the number of times it could be recharged.

That liquid sakuradite could contain so much energy was also the problem at hand. If the JLF decided that all was lost, they might decide to end it all in a sakuradite-fuelled blaze of glory. Going on Intel's minimum estimate, the explosion was annihilate the ship, while the pressure wave would destroy anything in the water within the harbour, to say nothing of what the waves would do to the harbour buildings.

This fact had been firmly in Princess Cornelia's mind when she planned that evening's mission. Their objective was to capture Katase alive, while ensuring that they did not blow the ship.

Alexander glanced at the dry dock, now full of water. Arranged along the dock were six of the new _Portman_ aquatic knightmares, waiting on their launching ramps, concealed from the ship's view by the surrounding buildings. The Imperial Marines had been clamouring for their own knightmares for years, and there they were.

Alexander regarded them for a moment. They were green and rounded, with a distinctly amphibian look that suited their role. Largely useless in high-seas combat, _Portman_s were deadly in shallow waters, and perfect for that night's mission. Their task would be to rush out into the harbour and disable the freighter's engines before it could pick up any speed. Then, a squad of six _Sutherland_s would move alongside the ship, picking off any JLF personnel on deck with specialized anti-infantry rifles issued just for the occasion.

And his role?

Alexander was not sure why his Princess had included him in the mission. She would have General Darlton and Sir Gilbert by her side, and it was highly unlikely that the JLF would put up any kind of fight.

Or did his Princess think that someone else might be coming?

The sound of voices drew Alexander from his thoughts. He glanced back towards the open door of the shed, and saw two figures standing in the light. As he focussed, he made them out as General Darlton and…Suzaku Kururugi.

"The Vicereine still has doubts about using you," Darlton said. "But my policy is to use anyone who's useful. Even if it's the son of the former Prime Minister of Japan."

Alexander felt a twinge of sympathy for the younger boy. He had known, as just about everyone did, that Suzaku was the son of Genbu Kururugi, the crazed warmonger who had brought Japan to ruin, the deluded leader who thought he could bend the world to his will with the power of sakuradite. When he could find it in himself to put aside the memory of _Sailor Suzako_, he regarded him with pity. His own, admittedly adoptive father had been distant and hard at times, but had shown him more kindness than he had ever known. Bismarck Waldstein had been the wind beneath his wings.

What sort of a father was Genbu Kururugi compared to that? A father who left his son with nothing but disgrace, who polluted his inheritance, and stored up for him a wealth of suffering. What sort of a man was Genbu Kururugi, who could destroy his own country and doom his own son?

"Once that is accomplished," Darlton went on, "exterminate the surviving members."

"Exterminate?" Suzaku had his back to Alexander, but horror was plain in his tone.

"Other than the target, no one else is to leave alive," Darlton confirmed, face expressionless. Suzaku said nothing, and Alexander wondered what the look on his face was.

"Show your loyalty to Britannia, Lieutenant Suzaku Kururugi," Darlton said, turning on his heel. "It's a chance for promotion. Do your best." He strode away, vanishing into the darkness.

"Yes, my lord." The words were barely audible, but Alexander could sense the pain and frustration they carried. He thought of going over to him, of saying something, only to realise that he did not know what to say.

"Could it be a _fumi-e_?" Lloyd Asplund emerged from the side, grinning at Suzaku. "You're being tested." Alexander knew what he meant, and he could tell from Suzaku's countenance that he knew too.

Fumi-e was an archaic practice, dating from the distant days of the Tokugawa dynasty, when the Christian religion was forbidden as a subversive foreign import. The fumi-e themselves were religious icons, usually of Christ or the Virgin Mary, over which government officials forced suspected Christians to walk, revealing themselves by refusing to do so. Sometimes they were built into public footpaths or bridges, and spies posted to note who avoided the image.

Alexander knew, without daring to ask, that this was indeed a fumi-e of sorts. He was being asked to murder those who had once been his compatriots, to stain his hands with Japanese blood.

It was not so much a test as an initiation. For Suzaku Kururugi, there would be no future but the service of Britannia, and the destruction of his enemies. There would be no going back. Not now.

Lloyd noticed him, and shot him a wink.

* * *

At the south end of the harbour, something emerged from the water.

It was human-shaped, water dripping off its slick skin as it pulled itself up onto the quay. Its long flippers flapped comically as it waddled towards the nearby warehouse and stepped through a side door.

Zero regarded it as it closed the door, and pulled off its mask.

"Is it set?"

"Yes." Zero forced himself not to shudder at Ali Al-Saachez' smile. "I set it up, right where you wanted it."

"You're sure it'll be enough?"

"Quite sure." Hamid began stripping off the wetsuit. "It's an older model, but against a freighter like that it'll do the job."

_It_ was a naval mine, acquired at some expense and with no little difficulty. When activated, it would fire a rocket-propelled shaped charge straight upwards, puncturing and destroying anything that happened to be overhead. If the supplier's boasts and Hamid's assurances regarding its destructive power were correct, then it would cause an instantaneous detonation of the liquid sakuradite, no matter where it hit, and where the sakuradite was.

Assuming the JLF hadn't added some extra armour, which Zero had judged quite unlikely.

"I hope you're not getting cold feet," Hamid asked, with mockingly-feigned concern. "You know as well as I do that this has to be done. And getting the Princess will more than make up for it."

"I feel like someone walked over my grave," Zero said, after a long pause. "Was it you, Satan's Sultan?" Hamid paused for a moment, then smiled that demonic smile.

"What gave me away?" he asked jokingly. "My charming personality? My skill at arms? The smell of blood?"

"I thought I'd seen you somewhere before," Zero replied. "The legendary Satan's Sultan, terrorist mastermind and root of all evil. I just never expected you to be working for the EU."

"Even the last bastion of freedom and democracy has dirty work that needs doing," Hamid retorted, still smiling. "It's the world we live in. They pay me, and I do it for them, no questions asked, nothing in the papers."

"Dirty work that tends to include getting rid of unwanted terrorist groups," Zero went on. "Every group you work with ends up dead."

"And you think I'll do the same to you." Hamid chuckled. "Don't worry Zero. EUROSEC wants you alive and successful, so I won't be disposing of you any time soon. Unless of course," his smile widened, "you do something to displease them."

"All I want to know," Zero hissed, fighting down his horror, "is _why_."

"Why?" Hamid actually sounded nonplussed.

"_Tell me why!_" Hamid's eyes flickered in surprise as Zero's eyepiece slid open, but it was too late. Zero saw the older man's eyes go blank, as the geass took effect.

"Because I hate terrorists," Hamid's tone was blank, but for some reason he was still smiling. "I hate them because they destroyed my family. Also, it's fun." The light faded, and his eyes returned to normal.

"I do it because it's what I do," Hamid went on, picking up where he left off. He had no memory of what had happened. "If that's everything, I'd best get into position."

"Yes," Zero said, forcing down the turmoil Hamid's revelation had unleashed. "I trust you found your knightmare."

"I certainly did." Hamid turned and headed for the small door, carrying his mask and flippers. He paused, and turned to smirk at Zero.

"Incidentally, since you know who I am anyway, you can call me Hamid."

"Thanks, I'd like that." He stepped through the door, and was gone. Zero stood where he was, conflicting instincts warring within him.

He _despised_ Hamid, _hated_ him even, and feared him just as much. He had never encountered anyone quite like him, one who could talk of death and destruction so casually, for whom others existed to be manipulated, whether by their dreams or their agonies, and tossed aside. He had seen it. He had seen it all, in those terrible eyes.

But that was not what truly frightened him.

What frightened him was how _familiar_ he seemed. He understood how someone like Hamid could exist, for he knew only too well the horror and cruelty of the world. He understood why Hamid might do what he did, because he knew what it meant to hurt, to be bereft, to have that which he held most dear to be stolen from him. He understood Hamid's evil, for it mirrored the evil in himself.

"_He's me_," he thought, though the thought horrified him. "_He's what I would have become, if not for Nunnally._"

"Zero?" A familiar voice drew him from the darkness. He looked up to see that Kallen had wandered into the warehouse, apparently looking for him.

"Kallen." He strode out to meet her.

"Uh, Zero." Kallen faltered, and Zero could tell that something was bothering her. "Umm…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…" She turned away, making to leave.

"Second thoughts?" Kallen paused, lowering her head as something welled up inside her.

"I thought the goal was justice," she said bitterly. "The only reason I fought until now is because I thought it was the right thing to do, so I could live with the killing. But now…" She rounded on Zero, throwing out her hands in protest, and pleading.

"Tell me! Is this real! Is what we're all doing here really going to change the world for the better!"

"Yes it will," Zero replied, touched by her anguish. "Or rather it must."

"But…!"

"Will there be sacrifices?" he asked rhetorically. "Not only soldiers, but innocents too." He paused, stunned by the pain in her eyes.

"And yet, because of what we've done, because of the blood we've spilled, we have no choice but to keep going. Even if people see us as cowards, and murderers, we have to prevail. We've destroyed too many innocent lives already, we can't let them be in vain. But I won't force you, Kallen."

The last he _had _to say. He _had_ to give her a chance, at least one chance, to back out. He knew where it was all going, and knew it would likely destroy him.

He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want Kallen to be destroyed. He didn't want her to suffer, to drown in remorse over what she did in his name, in his service. The gentle world he sought to build was not for Nunnally alone.

" I've made my choice," Kallen replied, smiling at last. "I'll follow you to the very end." Zero paused, touched by the sentiment.

"I'm grateful, Kallen."

* * *

The sky was darkening. Day was becoming night, leaving only a reddish glow on the horizon. The only sound was the trickle and gurgle of water.

Princess Cornelia stood on the dock, and raised her arm.

The _Portman_s slid into the water one at a time, sending out clouds of bubbles as their engines came online. At the same time a team of _Sutherland_s, accompanied by the _Lancelot_, raced away along the quay, turning a corner to run parallel to the dry dock, heading straight for the freighter.

The _Portman_s fired torpedoes, the volley hitting the drydock's watertight door with a low boom, sending up a geyser of water. The aquatic knightmares swam through the new opening, and out into the harbour.

Standing near his Princess, Alexander could see little. She had positioned herself and her Royal Guards inside the shed, in a position to intervene if anything went wrong while not being immediately visible. The likelihood of anything happening was so slim that there was no particular need for the Princess to get her hands dirty.

Alexander had to make do with his comm earpiece. He could hear the devicers barking messages back and forth.

"Commence support fire! All units restricted to MR ordnance only! Don't set off that liquid sakuradite!"

He could hear the drum-roll of gunfire. He squinted at the distant shape of the freighter's bow, looming tall over the warehouses. Tiny shapes fell from the deck, and he knew that they were JLF soldiers. More of them fell, and more, and more, until Alexander's earpiece started to crackle.

"…surrender…!"

"Ple…eas…fire!"

"…Japan Liberation Front! I repeat, we surrender!" The voices were plaintive, desperate, their broken English heavily accented. He wondered, in that sick, strange moment, if they were too proud to learn the language properly.

"Sir!" It was Suzaku's voice. "They're issuing a surrender over an open channel!"

"Ignore it." The voice sounded closer, and Alexander looked up to see that Darlton had spoken, finger pressed to his earpiece.

"Yes but sir…!" The voice trailed off. Alexander felt sick at heart, but his sadness was interrupted by a rumbling noise from the freighter.

"You see?" Darlton went on, as the ship began to move. "They were just buying time. Now, carry out your orders."

"Does it trouble you, Alexander?" asked Cornelia, in a level tone.

"No, your Highness," Alexander replied, and it was broadly true. The battle was completely one-sided, but the men and women of the JLF were fair game. To pick up a weapon was to make oneself a target. "I…was worried about Lieutenant Kururugi."

"Don't concern yourself with him," said Darlton sternly. "This is the path he has chosen. He has to live with it."

"Yes sir. I only wonder if he can."

"I will admit he struck me as a tad soft," Cornelia commented, not taking her gaze from the freighter. "On the other hand, he somehow managed to save me from capture, so I suppose I should give him a chance."

"He is quite a capable pilot, your Highness." Alexander feared that he might be damaging his own standing by saying so, but he said it all the same. Something made him want to stand up for that young man, who had such sad eyes, and a burden every bit as heavy as his own.

"Yes, he is," Cornelia replied, lip curling in distaste. "Which is probably why my brother tolerates him. It's also why we must bring the Elevens into compliance before they cause even more trouble."

Alexander knew what she meant. He had heard of how many Japanese had fled their conquered homeland, taking refuge in distant lands. Such defections had been tolerated by Prince Clovis as a social safety valve, keeping the sheep in the pen while the goats went and bothered someone else. But the goats were still out there, in the EU and the Chinese Federation. The EU was overtly training and organizing them, in a plethora of foreign legions. Alexander was fairly certain the Chinese were doing the same, though if they were, they had concealed it thus far. If the Elevens could produce devicers half as good as Suzaku Kururugi, then Britannia might yet reap a whirlwind.

He stared out over the harbour as the freighter came fully into view. The _Portman_s fired off their Slash Harkens, powerful electromagnets fixing them to the deck, and hauled themselves up. Alexander counted four of them, and knew that the other two were even then heading to disable the engines. For Katase, there would be no escape that night.

And then there was light.

Where the ship had once been, there was only an incandescent hemisphere, roaring like a neverending thunderclap. Night became day, and the gentle breeze became a storm, the overpressure whistling between the warehouses, flinging knightmares and men from their feet.

"Seal the door!" someone yelled. Alexander, by some miracle, had the presence of mind to respond. He slammed his hand on the door control, and slowly, so _slowly_, the door began to slide shut. He could hear the rushing of water, of a wave thrown up by the explosion, and knew it would be too late.

The wave reached the door, the torrent gushing through the narrowing gap. But the door was strong, designed to resist the ocean's wrath, continuing to close even as the water poured in, knocking Royal Guards and technicians off their feet. Alexander's eyes fell on Princess Cornelia, standing tall, resisting the waters like a mighty cliff. Pride and fury burned in her eyes, such that would never yield, not even to the fury of earth, sea, or sky.

The door slammed shut. Alexander could hear the water pounding against it, and felt a twinge of concern for those still outside. Had they escaped? Had they been washed away to safety? Or had they been dashed against unyielding walls, the mighty knightmares crushed into scrap by forces no human technology could match or control?

The pounding stopped. The roar of the water faded, its force spent as it spread out, finding new places to flow and settle. As suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

"Open the door! Quickly!" Cornelia's voice brought Alexander as his senses. He wondered for a moment at her vehemence, but the look in his eyes silenced his doubts. He hit the door control again, praying that the torrent had not warped the door and jammed it. The door groaned and clunked, but mercifully it began to slide open. Alexander darted to the widening gap, desperate to see what was out there, if anything remained. What he saw made his heart skip a beat.

A hydrofoil, painted white, roared across the harbour waters towards him. Alexander felt a surge of terror as the hydrofoil mounted the quay, crashing straight through a squad of _Sutherland_s trying to rally, skidding along in a screech of tortured metal and showers of sparks.

"Mount up now and form a defensive line! On the double!" Alexander obeyed Darlton's command, racing towards his _Gloucester._ But even as the ascension cable bore him up he knew it was too late, as the stricken hydrofoil's upper hatch slid open to reveal black-painted knightmares.

The Black Knights had come.

Six black _Burai_s, a locally-made _Glasgow_ variant, leapt from the hydrofoil, opening fire on the _Sutherlands_ rushing in to contain them. Another _Burai_, this one wearing a curious red and yellow headdress, boiled straight for Cornelia. With it was another knightmare, completely unlike the others. It was red and orange but for its unpainted right arm, which ended in a mighty clawed gauntlet.

_Guren Nishiki_.

Alexander jabbed frantically at his controls, willing the _Gloucester_ to come online faster. But the black _Burai_ was too fast, Landspinners screeching as it barrelled into Princess Cornelia's knightmare, knocking it back. The shed's rear wall was evidently not designed to resist what the front wall could, corner-cutting by the contractor no doubt, for the two knightmares smashed through in a cloud of dust, the _Guren_ boiling after them.

Alexander's _Gloucester_ was online. He looked and saw Darlton and Guilford's _Gloucesters_ taking cover behind the heavy doors, firing snap-shots at the enemies outside.

"Sir Alexander!" Guilford roared. "We'll hold them! Get to the Vicereine!"

"Yes my Lord!" Needing no encouragement, Alexander spun his knightmare and raced out through the jagged hole. In an instant he was out, the sky dark above him. Around him were shipping containers, stacked like a giant's building blocks, creating an arena of sorts. He saw his Princess' knightmare, lying against a wall of shipping containers, down but apparently undamaged. As he came on, he saw her fire off a Slash Harken, striking the black _Burai_'s shoulder to rip the arm clean off. Cornelia brought up her Assault Rifle, only for _Guren_'s own anchor to knock it away.

Alexander felt his heart clench. His Princess was wide open, and yet the black _Burai_ did nothing. It stood where it was, as if it could not decide what to do next.

A white blur descended from one of the containers, dropping like a bolt of lightning onto the black _Burai, _kicking it to the ground and leaping away. The white blur landed, and Alexander could see the helmet crowned in gold, and the twin MVS hanging from the cockpit.

_Lancelot_.

The _Guren_ advanced, racing to the black _Burai_'s assistance. But Cornelia was moving, bringing up her lance to catch _Guren_'s claw.

"This is payback for Narita!" The two knightmares stood, locked together by their own clashing might. "Alexander, help me with this one! Kururugi can manage by himself!"

"Yes, your Highness!" As _Lancelot _beat and tore at the maimed _Burai_, Alexander pressed and rolled his joystick rollerball, reaching up a mechanical hand to the sword on his knightmare's back.

The Heat Katana, which he had taken at Narita. Not merely a trophy, but a symbol of redemption, of his Princess' forgiveness. She had allowed him to keep it, to show that she had need of him.

The curved blades began to move, faster and faster, glowing as they blurred. Alexander took the weapon in a two-handed grip, and prepared to dismember the struggling _Guren_.

And he would have done, had his console not started beeping rather insistently. Reflexes honed over fourteen years of near-constant training kicked in, taking him around on the spot and bringing up his sword.

The great black scimitar came down, striking his Heat Katana with a shower of sparks. Alexander dropped his arms, twisting away as the blade fell. He backed off, bringing his sword to _en garde_, and got a good look at his new opponent.

The colour scheme was the same, yellow and red flames that seemed to roil and dance before his eyes. It had only one scimitar that time, held in both hands. The other it had left behind on a distant battlefield. In a place called Seraphaum.

_Him_.

* * *

Hamid felt a thrill of anticipation as he spied the white-grey _Gloucester_ in front of him, a glowing blade in its hands.

It had been worth it. It had been worth the trouble, the risk, and the expense, of smuggling his custom _Glasgow_ into Japan. For he would get another shot at that _Gloucester_, the one that had bested him at Seraphaum.

"Alexander Waldstein," he sneered into the comm. "We _must_ stop meeting like this!"

"What are you doing here!" the custom _Gloucester_ roared back. Have you come to wreak havoc here also!"

"Wreaking havoc's what I do best!" Hamid thrust the joysticks forward and pressed down the pedals. His _Glasgow_ leapt into action, charging straight at the _Gloucester_. Hamid pulled the joysticks back, raising the scimitar for an overhead strike. But the _Gloucester_ blocked, sparks flying, and dropped back. Hamid pressed the attack, striking again and again. The shed wall loomed behind his opponent, and Hamid realised his intent. He smirked, pushing back the pedals to retreat, not taking the bait. He was not such a novice as to run himself into the wall.

Alexander, for he was sure it was, took the initiative, attacking in the same manner. Hamid blocked and parried, hissing with the effort. He wasn't sure, but the youth's blows seemed harder and faster than before. He wondered for a moment if his enemy's knightmare had received some upgrade, or whether it was his enemy himself. Could his skills have grown so much in so short a time?

He tried to break away, but in that confined space he could not manoeuvre the way he liked to. The _Gloucester_ stayed on him, striking again and again in a graceful kata. Hamid continued to block and parry the blows, but he just couldn't break free. He snarled in frustration as Zero's black _Burai _was smashed to the ground, the cockpit blazing away between the lines of shipping containers. This was looking bad.

Then, the purple _Gloucester _swung sideways, the _Guren _leaping over it to dive at the _Lancelot_. The mighty gauntlet glowed an angry red as the white knightmare's sword caught it.

Hamid knew that the battle was over. He had intervened too late, or rather the grey _Gloucester_ had ruined his intervention by failing to die. He had been in enough battles to know how little it took to tip the balance, even if the change was not immediately obvious. Zero was down, the _Guren_ of which he had spoken so highly was committed, and they had no more than six _Burai_s available, some of which would likely be down. The _Lancelot_ was committed, which was a mercy, but there were two more Royal Guards somewhere, and the _Sutherland_s would be rallying.

Time to bug out. But how?

Wrenching the controls, Hamid broke left, managing to slip out and away. He aimed himself at the purple _Gloucester_, guessing by the white cloak and the antler-like vanes on its head that Princess Cornelia was piloting it. The purple _Gloucester_ turned to face him, firing off Slash Harkens. In a flash of inspiration, Hamid pushed the pedals down and outward, spreading his _Glasgow_'s legs and raising his sword in a curving motion. The blade caught the Princess' anchors, its motion dragging and hurling them at the oncoming anchors of the grey _Gloucester_, fired in the hope of catching him. The anchors struck and bounced away, but Hamid was already moving, crablike, out from between them. He lashed out at the purple _Gloucester_ as he passed, tearing a rent in the upper left leg. The _Gloucester_ dropped to one knee, sparks leaping from the mutilated leg.

Hamid snarled in triumph as he spun around in a tight arc. He straightened up, and prepared to charge at the stricken _Gloucester_. It was not a chance to be missed.

But the _Lancelot_ was moving too. Even as Hamid's _Glasgow _readied to charge, it managed to throw off the _Guren_. Hamid felt a surge of adrenalin as he saw the white machine cast its eyes upon him.

It _leapt_. Hamid was momentarily stunned as he watched the knightmare soar over purple and grey_ Gloucester_s. He had never known a knightmare to jump, at least, not jump and then land without breaking something. No knightmare he had ever encountered was that well-coordinated.

But this one was. It landed like an acrobat in front of him, ripping a long, straight-bladed sword from its cockpit scabbard. Hamid was already moving, striking from above at the _Lancelot_'s head. But _Lancelot_ was faster, and Hamid's blade struck the sword, which was now glowing red. Hamid gaped in astonishment as his sword stuck fast, and he saw how the tungsten-carbide blade had nicked itself on the _Lancelot_'s own blade. His world spun as the _Lancelot_ kicked his _Glasgow _under the cockpit, sending it flying back. He wrenched the joysticks, jamming his feet down on the pedals, fighting to regain control, only to be slammed against the seat as his knightmare hit the shed wall. He felt the wall give way behind him, warning buzzers screeching as the leg servomotors gave out. With another wrenching impact, his knightmare crashed to the floor of the shed.

Hamid shook his head to dispel the dizziness. He ran his eyes over his console, and knew that it was over. His screens had gone dead, and what remained of his console informed him that his leg servomotors and energizer were both offline, the battery life counting down as red digits. His knightmare, his faithful _Glasgow_, was offline.

He hissed in frustration at having lost the custom knightmare, having just gotten it the way he liked it. Jacque's most artistic programming, Saji's terror-driven maintenance, all the improvements EUROFORCE RDA could think of, his own skills. All of it had fallen before one white knightmare.

Hamid controlled himself. It would all be for nothing if he was taken. He pulled the cockpit release, and felt the hatch pop open, the seat back dropping down with it. He pulled himself free, dropping on one shoulder to the cold concrete. He scrambled to his feet, and turned his attention to the underside of the seat. He pulled out his small backpack, then headed down towards the small of the knightmare's back. A turn of his key opened the hatch, revealing the Energy Filler in its slot, the rear input ports next to it, and the data recorder. He stuck his key in the lock and turned, the small hatch popping open, allowing him to slide it out and pop it into his backpack.

The data contained in that small device, only the size of a beer can, would make the difference between total loss and minor setback. Hamid had no doubt that EUROFORCE would want to see it, especially the parts involving the _Lancelot_.

Before zipping up his backpack, he pulled out a small object. It was a metal can, crudely soldered shut, with a tiny hole in the lid. Hamid pulled out what appeared to be a pen and jammed it into the hole, the weakened metal bending to let the pen slide in. He gave the top of the pen, which was not a pen, a hard twist before shoving it into the data recorder's housing.

He _ran_.

_**

* * *

**_

_**Ashford Academy, Area 11, June 2017 ATB**_

Sayoko was a maid. It was not _all_ that she was, but it was what she did.

She had not always been a maid either. It was something she had chosen a long time ago, when she was just a child in training. Her fellow trainees had been surprised, derisive even, that she would choose so humble profession as a maid. But her teachers had approved, knowing that she had understood their lessons better than her classmates.

Servants were everywhere and nowhere, seen and yet not seen. They did everything, heard everything, and knew where everything was hidden. For all their airs and graces, for all their delusions of power and grandeur, employers were invariably at the mercy of their servants.

It had come in useful for Sayoko, even in those days, when her country was ruled by Britannia. She had the run of the settlement, able to come and go as she pleased while attracting barely a curious glance. She had developed her _Tatemae_, her mask, as she had developed her other skills, a subtle psychological defence mechanism, deflecting the suspicions of any who looked upon her. They saw a maid, a servant, and nothing more.

She could have killed everyone on the Academy grounds without breaking a sweat. She could have hunted them from the shadows, dropped upon them from above, ending them before they could even scream. And she would never have been caught.

But she did not. She had no reason to.

Apart from that, she had good reason to be loyal to the Ashford family. They paid her well, had treated her well, and made her privy to some of their most important secrets.

One of those secrets was sitting in a wheelchair in front of her. Nunnally Lamperouge, otherwise known as Nunnally vi Britannia, would normally have been in bed by then, and was even wearing her nightgown. But she had insisted on staying up a little longer, in the hope that her brother would return home soon.

Sayoko suppressed a sigh. The young master had been increasingly absent of late. Normally so devoted to his blind, wheelchair-bound younger sister, Lelouch had been spending more and more time away, coming home at all hours and being very vague as to what he had been doing. Sayoko knew that he liked to gamble, wagering money on himself in high-stakes chess matches that he rarely if ever lost. But this was different somehow.

She had, on occasion and with all due respect, warned Lelouch regarding his lifestyle. He would listen politely, tell her he understood what she meant, then do nothing about it. She found his attitude hard to take at times. For he, a Prince of Britannia and a young man in his prime, seemed to have given up on life. For him, there was no possibility of a brighter future, for him, or for anyone.

Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs. She knew those footsteps well.

"Miss Nunnally, I think the young master has returned."

"I know," Nunnally replied cheerfully, turning her wheelchair to face the door. "I can tell too."

The door crashed open, and there stood Lelouch. Sayoko suppressed her surprise at his appearance, for in the low light he looked haunted.

"Nunnally…"

Lelouch bounded across the room, fell on his knees, and flung his arms around her neck. He pressed her to him, tears streaming down his face.

"Lelouch?"

"Nunnally!" He didn't want to let her go. He didn't want to consider what he might have been, what he might have done, were it not for her. "Oh Nunnally!"

He felt soft, warm arms slide around his shoulders, and gentle hands massage his back.

"It's okay," Nunnally whispered into his ear. "Don't cry. It can't be that bad."

Why? How could she be so gentle? How could she be so sweet? How could she give of herself, after all that had been taken from her?

Surely it was all for her. Surely it was thanks to her that he was who he was. In that moment, Lelouch knew in his soul that she had saved him.

"Nunnally…thank god for you."

She had saved him from himself.

Sayoko stood where she was, keeping a respectful distance. Part of her wanted to smile, for the display touched her to the heart. But another could not help but wonder what could have unsettled the young master so.

"Sayoko."

"Yes, master Lelouch?"

"I'll take it from here." His voice was hoarse.

"Very good, master Lelouch." Sayoko bowed and left the room, allowing herself to smile. As she left, Lelouch lifted Nunnally from her wheelchair and carried her to her room himself.

"Lelouch, why are you crying?" she asked, as he laid her on her bed and tucked her in.

"It's nothing, really," Lelouch reassured her. "It's…" He paused, wondering how much he dared tell her.

"Oh Lelouch." Nunnally sounded hurt. "Please tell me what's wrong. You always take care of me, and I want to take care of you too."

"Nunnally…" Lelouch sniffed, cleared his throat, then squatted by the bed, holding her hand. "Do you think…that I'm a good person?"

"Well…" Nunnally seemed to think about it. "You like to gamble, and you sleep in class, and you don't make an effort with your studies…"

Lelouch sighed.

"But you couldn't possibly be a bad person," Nunnally went on. "At least, that's what I believe."

"Thank you…Nunnally."

Lelouch held her hand, staying by her side until he was sure she was asleep.

"I'd be lost without you," he whispered, as he turned and left the room. As he closed the door behind him, he looked up at the familiar face. Even disguised as she was, her long green hair crammed into a cap, he could not mistake her.

"Are you done soothing your conscience?" CC asked. Even her normal tone had a mocking quality to it.

"I had to do it," he said quietly. "I just…needed to see her."

"And so you came all the way back here." She eyed him, with that look that implied she found him completely useless. "You could have just called her."

"She isn't just my little sister," Lelouch replied darkly. "She's what keeps me from the abyss. It's because of her that…" he trailed off, not quite able to say it.

"That you're not like that other guy?" CC cocked her head. "Are you absolutely sure of that? Are you _sure_ you don't enjoy it? Not even a little?"

"I'm not sure," Lelouch admitted, as if confessing to a murder. "That's what makes it so hard."

"That's what makes him so terrifying to you, you mean." The immortal girl tossed her green hair. "He makes you wonder how pure you really are. He makes you wonder if you're not just becoming a pawn in someone else's chess game. He makes you wonder if you would really mind."

For a long time Lelouch did not answer, but merely leant against the door, head bowed.

"He has no one like that," he said eventually. "He told me so himself. He lost all that he cared for, and that loss made him a monster. If I had lost Nunnally as well as my mother, I'd probably be no different. If she had died, I would have forgotten how to love, how to care. Were it not for her, what happened to Suzaku, and to Shirley, would have meant nothing to me."

"Your greatest strength," CC mused, "and your greatest weakness."

"I'll do what I must," he replied, looking her in the eyes. "If I have to become the EU's pawn, I'll do it, and make them my pawns in turn. Even if they send a devil to torment me, I won't loose my way. So long as I have Nunnally, I can remember who I am, and what I'm doing it for. If I can make a gentle world for her, and for Shirley too, it won't have been for nothing."

In truth, CC was as glad of Nunnally as Lelouch was. So long as he had someone else to focus his feelings on, he might not fixate on her.

He might not end up like _him_.

_**

* * *

**_

_**Narita Settlement**_**, **_**Area 11, June 2017 ATB **_

The new memorial was quite impressive.

It consisted of a stone obelisk, reaching into the sky, with a tiered base set on a raised dais with steps leading up to it. Plaques set into the base listed the names of the known dead, and wished them eternal peace. It was set on the edge of a cliff, allowing a clear view of the nearby mountains. The wide path leading up to the obelisk was flanked with grass, upon which were two stone plinths, the crest of the Imperial armed forces emblazoned upon the upper sides, easily visible to anyone moving up or down the path. They reminded visitors of the sacrifices of the Imperial army, and of Britannia's sacred duty to maintain and rule the land that blood had been shed to gain. The whole area lined with trees, intended to give the memorial a sense of serenity.

But Alexander could find no peace in that place. He had gone there in search of closure, to find a way of dealing with the unhappy feelings that had plagued him ever since the battle. But he could not escape those feelings, those doubts.

The skirmish at Port Yokosuka had not been _particularly_ disastrous. They had failed to capture Katase, though his death and that of his most senior followers was a consolation prize. They had lost around dozen knightmares, thanks for the most part to the sudden appearance of the Black Knights, and had very nearly lost the Vicereine. Just to make matters even worse, they had fluffed their best chance thus far to capture Zero. The black _Burai_ was found to be empty, with only a pool of blood to tell any tales.

The blood turned out to be that of Villetta Nu, last of the disgraced Purists. Her ultimate fate was unknown, but the general opinion was that Zero had shot her before escaping. Whether she was a traitor meeting with her contact, or a loyal soldier of Britannia taking matters into her own hands, none could say. Officially she was still listed as missing, since no body had been found, and it was highly unlikely that Zero had taken it with him.

Alexander hadn't known what to say or think. He didn't know the woman personally, but he did know that she was involved with Graham Aker, his old comrade from back in Africa. He had thought of saying something, but could not think of anything to say. The words seemed empty, meaningless.

And _he_ had returned.

Ali Al-Saachez, otherwise known as Satan's Sultan, was in Area 11. And where he went, death followed.

He heard footsteps behind him, the sound breaking his reverie. He turned his head, mildly irritated at the disturbance, to see a young girl, aged maybe seventeen, walking up the path towards him, carrying a pink holdall. She wore a cream blazer and a very short black skirt. At her throat was a green necktie, bearing the same gold fleur-de-lys he had seen on Rai's uniform.

But it was the girl's face that made the anger vanish from him, that and the long auburn hair.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" The girl's sorrow was suddenly replaced with bashfulness. "I shouldn't have interrupted. I didn't mean to disturb you…" she trailed off, taking in his maroon coat, with the gold frogging. Her face went scarlet.

"I…your Lordship, please forgive me!" She grabbed the hem of her skirt and dropped a clumsy curtsy. As short as her skirt was, the genuflection just looked indecent. The part of Alexander's addled mind that noticed such things came to two conclusions. One was that she knew nothing of etiquette, which in socially-stratified Britannia was unusual. Second was that she was so scared that she got her genuflections mixed up. It would have been more appropriate, in her current attire, to clasp her hands in front.

He could not bring himself to feel angry or offended. That look of shock and shame on her face, that only superficially concealed the intolerable grief that Alexander knew she must have been feeling. She just seemed so…vulnerable.

"It is of no consequence, Miss Fenette." Alexander managed to control himself. "This…is hardly private property."

It occurred to him that he had never, in his entire life, spoken casually to a member of the opposite sex. Not at Chalcedon Palace, with Princess Euphemia's friends clamouring for his affections. Not even at the Military Academy, where his fellow cadets were forever sneaking women into the dormitories. And certainly not at all those balls, soirees, and receptions he had been unable to wriggle out of, where conversation was contained by the intricacies of etiquette.

He, Alexander Bismarck Waldstein, knew _nothing_ of women.

"Even so…" Shirley Fenette seemed to have regained some of her own self-control. "I…mother said I should be respectful, so…"

"Please, Miss Fenette," Alexander interjected, hoping to stop her before she attempted any more shows of deference. "Think nothing of it."

"Oh…okay." Both turned to face the obelisk, unable to think of anything more to say.

"Lord Waldstein?"

"Please…call me Sir Alexander."

"Sir Alexander…how did you know my name?"

"I…met your father, on the day of the battle." Driven by some strange curiosity, Alexander looked her in the eyes. The look of surprise and yearning he found there rent his heart.

"You knew my father?"

"Not really." He told her the story, of how he had returned her father's dropped photograph, and of how important it seemed to him. Shirley did not reply for a long time.

"I just want to know why." Her voice was low and hoarse. "I just what to know…why did Zero kill my father?" She looked up at him, grief and frustration burning in her eyes. "You're a soldier aren't you! Can't you tell me! Won't anyone tell me!" She trailed off, remembering who she was berating. Alexander wanted to say something, but did not know what to tell her. He had never felt quite so…awkward around anyone before.

"He did not kill your father, Miss Fenette," he said, praying his words were the right ones. "Not as such. I doubt that he knew your father was there, or that he even existed."

"I know." Shirley looked away, her countenance darkening. "I know my father meant nothing to him. Nobody means anything to him. He just…" She trailed off.

"Miss Fenette…" Something welled upside Alexander, something he had not felt in many years. "If my life would undo your loss, I would give it in an instant." Shirley started at his words, then looked up at him with disbelief in her eyes.

"Why?" she asked. "Why would you do that? Why would it matter?"

"Because I know something of grief," Alexander replied, melancholy seeping in his tone as he remembered that terrible day eight years earlier. To his surprise, the disbelief and accusation in Shirley's eyes was replaced with sympathy.

"You lost someone?"

"A woman…who was like a mother to me." He didn't know why he was telling her, only that something about her made him _want_ to. "I was as helpless then…as you feel now." Shirley seemed to consider it for a moment.

"But it's not just my father," she said. It seemed to Alexander as if she was wrestling with some terrible decision. "It's…"

"Lulu?"

The voice, with its strange accent and mocking tone, cut through the atmosphere. Both Alexander and Shirley snapped around to see a tall, thin young man with long silver hair, his eyes covered by a narrow visor, his ears hidden under headphones. His face wore a malign smile.

"It is, isn't it!" the youth went on. "It's all about Lulu! That's all you can think about!"

"Who are you?" Alexander demanded, irritated. "What are you saying?"

"He's a cruel man isn't he, Lelouch?" The youth took a step closer, paying Alexander no attention. "He deceived you. He never told you he's Zero." Shirley gave a gasp, and the holdall dropped from her shoulder.

"What do you want!"

"The same mouth that ordered your father's death stole a kiss from your tender lips." The youth continued his advance, a vulpine smile on his face. "He's a very bad man. And you like it." Shirley tried to back away, raising a hand to her mouth in fear.

"Punishment must be measured out, to him, and to you."

"To me!"

"I know everything. I know everything that happened that night. And I'm sure your friend here," he gestured at Alexander with his chin, "will want to know."

"What would I want to know!" Alexander demanded, torn between wanting to protect the frightened Shirley and a desire to know whatever secrets that strange young man was privy to.

"Don't be taken in by those soft green eyes," he drawled. "She's a killer too. She killed Villetta Nu, the one you've been wondering about, and she used her father's death for her own gain."

"No!" Shirley wailed. "I just...! I just…!"

"Cunning little woman," the youth sneered. "Playing the tragic heroine?"

"No!" Shirley clutched at her head. "I'm not doing that!"

"You killed, and then went fishing for attention. You reeled the man you wanted, but now you've found someone else." The smile widened, revealing white teeth. "You were about to turn him in! To this _handsome_ young knight who just happened to take pity on you!"

"No!" Shirley screamed her denial, tears of shame running down her face. "No! It's not…!" She fell to her knees, sobbing.

"Enough!" Alexander stepped in front of her, barring the youth's path. "I'll not suffer this! Why do you torment her so!"

"Oh?" The man looked momentarily surprised, then clapped his hands with glee. "You feel _sorry_ for her, don't you. Then again it's no surprise. After all, you've got so many things to hide yourself, Alexander Waldstein. Or should I say…_Soran_!"

Alexander's heart stopped. He could see the look on his face in the young man's visor, a look of utter, mind-bending terror.

"You've been living a lie," the young man went on, ignoring Shirley. "You've lied to everyone you've ever met for the past fourteen years. You lied to Princess Cornelia, to Major Aker, to Rai, to _Lady Marianne_." The pale youth was obviously enjoying himself, savouring Alexander's terror. "Do you want to bear the weight of your lies for the rest of your life? Or will you kill me, as you intend to do right now?" Even as he spoke the words, Alexander's hand was dropping to his sidearm.

"Too slow!" Alexander saw too late the tazer in the youth's hand, and could not stop him thrusting it into his stomach. He screamed as his body was wracked with pain. It felt like he had been thrown in a vat of acid.

As the darkness took him, he could hear Shirley screaming.

* * *

Alexander snapped awake, and found he could not move. His arms were behind his back, bound at the wrist, while his legs were bound at the ankles.

He looked around. It was dark, with a little light shining through what appeared to be a crack under a tall, narrow door. He tried to turn around, objects clattering and clanging as he did. He focussed on one of them, a long, thin pole, as it fell against the wall beside him.

It was a mop. He was in the broom cupboard, of wherever it was he happened to be.

Then he remembered. A man who knew too much had attacked him with a tazer. A man who had somehow known that he was going to attack even as he did so. A man who had read that young girl's mind and played on her darkest fears, only to do the same to him. A man who could read minds.

It made no sense, but he could think of no other explanation.

He had to get out of there. Alexander struggled, and found to his relief that whoever had tied him up was an amateur. He curled his feet, easing the long boots off, along with the rope that pinioned them. He managed to turn himself around, taking the right boot in his hands and rummaging inside.

Never be without a blade, his father had told him. Sure enough, the thin knife hidden inside came free. He dropped the boot and began sawing at the ropes, willing his fingers not to tremble. As he sawed, he heard and felt a rumbling nearby, the sound rising to a deafening crescendo as something drew near. Was it a train?

The ropes fell away. Alexander slid his boots back on and tried the door. It was locked. He braced his shoulder against it, ramming into it again and again as the rumbling grew louder and louder.

The rumbling stopped, as the lock broke open, and Alexander stumbled into the daylight.

He gathered his thoughts. Before him was a guard rail, and beyond, a panoramic view of the Narita mountains. He glanced to his left, and saw a set of railway tracks leading up the mountainside, too steeply to be a conventional railway.

The Funicular railway. He was evidently on the top station. But why was he there.

Alexander froze, as he heard the sound of voices. He pressed himself to the wall, and sidled towards the tracks, knife gripped in his hand.

"Shirley, that gun is…" the voice was young, male.

"Yes, it's Zero's." Shirley Fenette's voice, low, almost lifeless. "Your gun Lulu."

"Why don't you use your geass?" The young man from before. "I'm sure you haven't used it on her, right? Of course, if you do so, I'll shoot you myself."

A thought occurred, and Alexander checked the holster at his waist. It was empty. That man was no good at tying people up, but he had thought to take his weapon.

He ran through the situation in his mind. Three of them, two of them armed. One of those was Shirley Fenette, evidently in the thrall of the other, the young man. The third person was the one called Lulu. Who sounded like that person called Lelouch.

Could it be?

Alexander eased the knife up and around, holding it to throw. He wasn't sure if it would do much damage, but it was all he had, and might give him the opening he needed.

He could probably take the youth, but what about the girl. Would she shoot him?

"Keep thinking about it!" the youth proclaimed. "That's your strong point isn't it! Thoughts spinning around and round and round!"

"Just shut up!"

"This is a fitting death, poetic justice for a thief like you."

"Lulu, die." The girl's voice was low, almost lifeless, then suddenly rose in desperation. "We'll atone for our sins! We have to! I'll die with you!"

"She's already killed one time. She shot the person who saw your face. All to protect your little secret. Didn't she, Soran!" Alexander felt his heart clench.

"Yes Soran, I can read your thoughts, and I know exactly where you are because of it. Why don't you come out and say hello to your old friend."

Forcing himself to stay calm, Alexander stepped around the corner and onto the platform. It was arranged like a set of steps, allowing passengers to enter and exit the red-painted carriage easily. In front of him at the top of the steps was Shirley, a Britannian military-issue handgun held two-handed. Furthest down was the young man, carrying an identical gun, which was aimed at him. And between them…

Those purple eyes, flashing with shock, outrage, and fear. That black hair, that curled around a face so reminiscent of…

"Prince Lelouch…"

"Alexander…"

"Old friends reunited," the young man sneered. "Sinners all. Here you may die together."

"Why did you drag him into this!" Lelouch demanded, rounding on the telepath. "Why!"

"I wouldn't have, if he'd just stayed in the broom cupboard," the telepath replied airily. "But its better this way, isn't it Soran?" Lelouch turned again, to stare into Alexander's eyes.

"Tell him, Soran," the youth pressed. "Tell him of your lies. Tell him how you lived your so-called father's lie for all these years. Tell him how the boy he lived with, whom Lady Marianne treated as her own child, was just a _street_ _child from Krugis_!"

Alexander was beyond fear, beyond embarrassment. His world was falling apart around him, and all those present knew it. A wicked stealer of secrets, his beloved Prince, and an innocent, suffering girl.

They knew it, they _all_ knew it.

"Shirley, he's trying to confuse you!" Lelouch pleaded. "He's trying to control you!"

"Are you actually saying this?" the youth sneered. "The man who lied to her from the very beginning?"

"Shirley, did you really kill someone?" Lelouch pointed at the youth. "Was he controlling you?"

"She pulled the trigger on her own. Her sins are weighing her down."

"He's trying to confuse you!"

"Shut up!" The gun went off with a crack. Lelouch fell down, the bullet whistling past his ear, taking away a lock of his hair. As he fell, small white squares fluttered from inside his jacket to spill over the steps.

They were photographs. Alexander could not see them clearly, but Shirley was staring at them, tears in her eyes.

Alexander saw her chance. He darted forward, snatching the gun from her unresisting hands. He aimed it straight at the youth, willing his hands not to shake. The youth stared back at him, with what might have been wonder.

"How very clear," he breathed, awestruck by some revelation which he alone could see. "How very pure. There's really nothing else to you. You really are…a…"

He said not another word. The bullet caught him in the chest, just below his collarbone, sending him to the ground. He rolled down the platform, headphones and visor coming away as he bounced. He came to rest at the bottom, blood pooling where he lay. His eyes were open, his expression one of wonder, as if he learnt the most wondrous of secrets in his final moments. From his headphones, lying discarded on the platform, came a woman's voice.

"Are you awake Mao? Very good Mao. You're very clever Mao. See, you can do it if you try Mao. That's wonderful Mao. Thank you Mao."

Shirley slumped forward, Lelouch diving to catch her.

"Are you all right Shirley?"

"Lulu," her voice was hoarse. "I really killed someone. That's why…"

"It wasn't your fault." Lelouch hugged her tight, eyes squeezed shut as he fought down sorrow and shame.

"But…I shot you…with your own gun…"

"It was my fault," Lelouch insisted, as Shirley flung her arms around him, grasping him in desperation. "Any sin of yours is mine to bear."

"I wanted you to be kind to me. Even though…"

"Don't worry." Lelouch pulled back, holding Shirley by the shoulders. "It's time to forget. It's time to let go of what happened."

"Impossible."

"No, not for me." Shirley looked up into his eyes. "I'm sorry about your father. If I could be reborn, I would do so. But instead I'll help you forget."

"No don't…!" Alexander saw the strange red glow in his eyes.

"Forget all your memories of me," Lelouch said, and it seemed to Alexander as if he was tearing his own heart out. Shirley's eyes went blank, and she slumped into his arms, unconscious.

Alexander stayed respectfully silent as Lelouch carried the girl up the steps, walking past him to lay her on a bench set against the back wall, put there for the use of passengers. He heard footsteps, and a young woman of about his own age walked down the steps past him. She had green hair done in two long tails, and wore a curious outfit, consisting of a white dirndl and sleeves, with a red and black corset, and a long red skirt open in the front to reveal black leggings. When she reached the bottom she picked up the body of the youth named Mao, and carried it back up. She left the way she had come, without a word.

They were alone.

"So then," Lelouch muttered, evidently heartbroken. "You know."

"Yes, your Highness."

"Don't call me that." He stood up, his back to Alexander, bitterness in his tone. "That's not who I am any more."

"Prince Lelouch…I…"

"I don't mind, Alexander." Lelouch turned to face him, with tears in his eyes. "I would not have minded then, and I don't mind it now. Neither would Nunnally, or Euphemia."

"Even so, my Prince," Alexander said, overcome, "he was right. I have lived a lie, given to me by a man who was not my father."

"A better father than the one fate foisted on me," Lelouch retorted ruefully. "And my mother must have known. That should be enough in itself."

"My Prince…"

"Stop calling me that!" The vehemence in his tone shocked Alexander into silence. "You haven't changed one bit! Always so deferential! Never dropping the titles! Never!" Alexander could find no words. Lelouch looked away, tears in his eyes.

"You were the nearest thing I had to a friend," he said. "You were always so sincere, so loyal. I liked that about you more than anything else."

"I could not be anything else, my Prince."

"I didn't want you to be loyal! I wanted you to be my friend!" The grief and pain in his words were enough to rend Alexander's heart in two. "You could see past our titles, our positions, but you could never actually go beyond them! You were always the servant and I the master! You wouldn't…you couldn't just _lighten up_!"

Silence.

"I'm…sorry," Alexander whispered hoarsely. "I never meant to hurt you. I was not strong enough. I was…afraid."

"Alexander," Lelouch looked him in the eyes. "Come with me." Alexander was so stunned that he could not reply.

"You said your life was false," Lelouch went on. "But I don't care. It doesn't matter to me. If your life was false then cast it aside, and join with me to create a better one. I cannot be reborn as a new person, but perhaps you can." Lelouch held out a hand. For a fraction of an instant, and to his everlasting shame, Alexander wanted to take it.

"I cannot, my Prince," he replied. "I love you, but I have given my oath to Princess Cornelia, who has shown me more kindness than I can hope to repay."

"She'll toss you on the rubbish heap as they did with my sister!" Lelouch roared. "The most you'll get is a tear in her eye! They'll never accept you! Never!"

"I know." Alexander hung his head, despair looming over him. "But if I go with you, I will be betraying my father, and all he taught me. My life is Princess Cornelia's, and hers is the Emperor's, but my honour is my own."

Lelouch did not reply. The wind moaned in the mountains, and the leaves rustled in the trees.

"I only ask," Alexander said eventually, "to be allowed my right to suicide."

"No Alexander." He looked up, and saw a strange red glow in Lelouch's right eye. "You will forget all of this."

* * *

It was dark. The sky was bright with stars, clearly visible so far from the city.

Alexander Waldstein and Shirley Fenette stood side by side before the Narita memorial, born of different ranks, indeed of different worlds, yet united by that place. It was the sort of thing any journalist looking for a 'human interest' story would have jumped at in an instant.

"It's getting late," Shirley said. "I should be getting back."

"Indeed, Miss Fenette. Can you manage by yourself?"

"Actually," the girl paused, bashful. "Would you please escort me home? If it's not too much trouble, I mean."

"I would be honoured." Alexander offered his arm, and Shirley slipped hers through it. They walked off together, enjoying each other's company, and comforted by it.

Concealed by the trees, Lelouch watched them go.

"Are you satisfied?" CC asked, appearing from the darkness behind him.

"Are you?"

"I suppose."

"You said so yourself," Lelouch said, unable to keep a little bitterness from his tone. "If you care for someone, keep them at a distance. That's what I've done, with both of them."

"You could have made him serve you," CC commented mildly. "Just as you could with Suzaku. Yet you didn't."

"I want them to follow me freely. It's meaningless if I have to force them. They both deserve better."

"Still sentimental."

"In any case," Lelouch changed the subject. "Care to tell me who that was? I know of no other person who could have given him a geass." CC was silent for a while.

"His name was Mao," she replied eventually. "I granted him his geass when he was six years old. When I found him he was utterly alone. I became his mother, his best friend, his teacher, and perhaps in a way his lover. He became…utterly dependent on me."

"And you cast him aside?"

"I had no choice." To Lelouch's surprise, she actually sounded regretful. "He did not merely lose control of his power, to the point where he couldn't turn it off. It became a means by which his worst nature came to the fore. Once he wiped out an entire town in much the same way as he did with Shirley. I should have taken responsibility for him there and then, but…" she trailed off.

"You loved him too much to kill him?"

"I loved him," she admitted. "But he could not fulfil my contract. I made…many mistakes with him." To his surprise, Lelouch actually felt sorry for the immortal girl.

"I could not take responsibility for him in the end," she went on. "Think of that, as you wield your geass."

"Don't worry." Lelouch found it in himself to smile. "I've taken responsibility for them. And I'll take responsibility for everything else."

"No matter where it leads you?" CC asked.

"No matter where it leads me," Lelouch replied. "I'll carry on."

* * *

(**Done at last, and just about on time. I don't know when this will reach you all, but a very Merry Christmas to all who care to read it. My special greeting to Zaru, for whom I write this fic. I hope my Christmas gift meets with the approval of you all.)**

_**Black King Club, Area 11, June 2017 ATB**_


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

_**Britannian HQ, Tokyo Settlement, Area 11, September 2017 ATB**_

"I'll be leaving for Area 18 in a few hours. I can't put it off any longer."

Alexander stood to attention before Princess Cornelia's desk, doing his best to ignore the feelings of uncertainty. His Princess was returning to the battlefront, but she was leaving him behind.

"The EU counterattack on the El-Alamein front has been more successful than Intel expected," Cornelia went on, apparently failing to notice his disquiet. She opened the dossier on her desk and slid a photograph over the desk to him. Alexander took it and examined it.

"Do you recognize it?"

"It looks like an EU _Panzer-Hummel_." Alexander knew it from the intelligence updates. It was a squat, blocky, ugly thing, painted in desert colours. Its arms consisted of two long gun barrels, it legs crude and mechanical. He could make out machine guns on the hips.

"That's what they call it," Cornelia confirmed. "And that's what's giving them so much trouble in North Africa. What you're seeing is a couple of 120mm coilguns, each capable of one-shotting any knightmare we have at a range of two kilometres. We know that because that's what they've been doing. A lot. The devicers we have there can't seem to deal with it." Cornelia looked him in the eyes. "How, may I ask, would you deal with it?" Alexander relaxed somewhat. This was somewhat familiar territory.

"I wouldn't attack it from the front, your Highness. Their weakness is that their machine guns are fixed, so they have to turn the whole machine around to sweep them. I would disrupt their formation with ranged fire then attack from as many different directions as possible."

"Exactly what I intend to do," Cornelia replied. "But before I go I'm going to give you your orders. Outside of that context you'll be under General Darlton's command, understood?"

"Yes, your Highness."

"Good. As you're no doubt aware we managed to capture the rebel Kyoshiro Tohdoh a few days ago. I was interested to learn that he was Warrant Officer Suzaku Kururugi's childhood mentor. As such, I've decided that he should carry out the execution himself." Cornelia paused, as if to let her words sink in.

"I imagine it would be very difficult for him," Alexander commented mildly, to kill his former teacher."

"That is why I intend he should." Cornelia's eyes flashed. "Just as we test our Honorary Britannian auxiliaries by sending them against their own, so we will test this particular Honorary Britannian by having him kill his old mentor, his lost nation's champion. As he dies, so dies the old Japan, and there shall be no going back."

"Yes, your Highness."

Alexander found himself feeling sorry for Suzaku, much as he had in Narita. He could not imagine how he would feel if he was ordered to kill someone he loved and respected. His father, Lady Marianne, Princess Cornelia...

"Honourary Britannians cannot be trusted, Alexander." Cornelia's tone was severe. "They have turned their coats for the chance of a better life, and when a man turns his coat once, he can turn it again just as easily. It's one thing for them to be citizens of the Empire, but quite another for them to serve in the armed forces."  
"I understand, your Highness." Alexander did not like where his Princess was going.

"To give them weapons is not only asking for trouble," she went on. "It goes against place and principle. It blurs the line between the rulers and the ruled. It makes a thing other than what it is."

Alexander forced himself not to shiver at her words. He wondered, fear cold in his stomach, if she had somehow discovered his secret.

If she knew who he was, she would never trust him again.

If she knew where he had come from, he would no longer be her knight.

If she knew he had once been Soran, his life would be over.

"You seem unsettled, Alexander."

"No your Highness." By will alone Alexander calmed his pounding heart.

"You need not worry Alexander." Cornelia's tone was a little lighter than before. "I mean no insult against your father. The Kingdom of Krugis is his domain, to do with as he sees fit. But it is _also_ Area 7, and some things should not be done."

"My father did as he thought best, your Highness." Alexander concealed his relief. "Krugis has become strong through his approach. Were it not for that, our position in North Africa would be a lot more difficult."

"That is true," Cornelia allowed, despite her misgivings. "All the same, he is Area 7's rightful governor, and yet he has no effective means of controlling it."

"He has the control codes, your Highness."

"Which he alone knows, and has made no record of. If he dies, no one outside of the Krugisian high command will be able to deactivate their weaponry. I respect your father, Alexander, but I feel that he is storing up trouble."

The Kingdom of Krugis, made up of the former Federal Republic of Krugis' provinces of Iran, Iraq, and Kurdistan, had grown strong over the last thirteen years. Though strictly speaking it was Area 7, it was also the chosen domain of Bismark Waldstein, Knight of One, and his to do with as he liked. He had made no attempt to strip his new property of its identity, or to make the people understand their new status as Britannian subjects. He allowed Darius Shah and his Parliament, the Majlis, to rule over the Area as if it were a sovereign state. He had required any Britannian corporation wishing to set up in Krugis to abide by the laws of that country, as if it were not a suzerain state, but an _ally._ The corporates had not taken it lightly. They had petitioned and lobbied endlessly, pleading to anyone who would listen that Bismarck was not playing by the rules. The answer was always the same.

Lord Waldstein's land. Lord Waldstein's rules.

But not all Britannians were angered or unsettled by Bismark's unorthodox approach. Many business leaders had seen opportunity in Krugis, tolerating the comparatively minor indignity of having to obey Krugisian laws in return for the rewards of doing business there. Some Britannians were wary of expanding the empire, seeing Bismark's approach as a sensible and credible alternative. Others merely enjoyed being able to go on vacation with comparatively little fear of being attacked by the natives.

But to Cornelia, the most unsettling feature of Krugis was its army. While it was normal for Areas to be managed by native governments of one sort or another, such governments were supposed to be subordinate to the Viceroy. What was more, they were _not_ supposed to have their own armies. Lightly armed security forces were permitted, but _not_ what Krugis had put together over thirteen years. Four hundred-thousand well-trained professionals, dozens of warships, hundreds of combat aircraft, thousands of tanks, and tens of thousands of knightmare frames.

The latter were what made the Krugisian forces unique. They were, strictly speaking, the first to use knightmares in combat, though only in small numbers and with little idea of how to use them effectively. The first full-scale employment was still the invasion of Japan in 2010. But they had quickly adapted the Ashford Foundation's _Ganymede_ knightmares, creating their own range of _Ganymede_ All-terrain Land Intervener, or ALI, knightmares. They had even created their own version of the Royal Panzer Infantry, the Britannian forces' specialized knightmare arm. Theirs was named the _Savaran_, for the elite heavy cavalry of the ancient Sassanid Empire. And an elite force they were, if the reports Cornelia had seen were anything to go by.

All in all it meant that if Krugis decided to go its own way, and Bismark was for some reason unavailable, Britannia would have great difficulty regaining control. In place of the simple dichotomy of ruler and ruled, Britannia was committed to a delicate balancing act, needing to keep Krugis under control by benevolence and diplomacy. This was not Britannia's way. This was not what Britannia was used to.

"I would not dare to contradict you, your Highness." Alexander kept his face straight, not daring to reveal the turmoil within.

"Alexander," Cornelia sighed, sounding almost disappointed. "Are you upset because I'm not taking you to Africa?"

"It is my honour to serve you, your Highness. But my place is at your side." The admission was dangerous, even presumptuous, but Alexander could not say otherwise.

"If you fear that I have somehow lost confidence in you, then you are mistaken." Cornelia's tone was patient, with a tinge of irritation. "I'm leaving you here because I know I can rely on you." She looked him straight in the eyes. "Am I mistaken?"

"No, your Highness." Alexander bowed. "Your confidence is more than I dare hope for."

"I'm glad to hear it." Cornelia gave him a thin smile. "In which case I can get on with this little briefing." She slid another photograph across the desk. It showed another knightmare, this one smooth and rounded, painted green but for the gun arms, which were red. It looked, for all the world, like a mechanical toad with guns for arms.

"A Chinese _Gun-ru_, your Highness. Export configuration."

"Precisely." Cornelia switched back to her business tone. "Their first serious attempt. Sturdy, cheap, reasonably cadet-proof, and with a decent armament. How would you defeat it?"

"Like the _Panzer-Hummel_ it is well-armoured" Alexander replied. "Its design concept is much the same, and the way to defeat it is much the same. Attack from the sides or rear, and aim for the legs, leg joints, or arms. The armour is too good for anything less than a G-cannon."

"Again, exactly what I would do." Cornelia took back the photograph and closed the dossier. "Machines like that one have been sighted in Hokuriku. The Chinese Federation is denying all knowledge, of course. And just to make things even more interesting, there are persistent rumours that the EU has deployed a covert team here. What they're here for is anyone's guess, but it almost certainly involves disrupting our control of this Area at some level or another. I don't have to tell you what that could mean."

She did not. Alexander understood Area 11's importance, deriving almost entirely from its supply of sakuradite. Officially the empire had a substantial stockpile, but Alexander knew otherwise. His position as a Royal Guardsman and knight made him privy to a great deal of restricted information, whether he was supposed to be or not. He had stood to attention by his Princess' chair during the meetings, seen the reports, overheard the muttered rumours in the corridors, and in the mess hall. He knew all about the sakuradite situation.

"That brings me to the main purpose of this briefing," Cornelia continued. "You are of course aware that my sister, Princess Euphemia, is soon to choose her knight."

"I am, your Highness." It would have been hard not to be. The entire settlement was rife with gossip over the news, wondering who would be chosen. To be a Prince or Princess' knight was an honour beyond compare, the ultimate in chivalrous achievement. Euphemia's knight would be her living shield, her closest protector, the one who would give his or her life to protect hers. As for who she would choose, Euphemia alone could answer. The choice was her prerogative, hers and hers alone. Only the Emperor could overturn her decision, and the chances of that were slim to none.

"There's a chance," Cornelia's eyes sparkled, "that she will choose you."

"Your Highness!" Alexander was taken aback. "I…would not presume to hope…"

"More than a chance." Cornelia's lip curled upward in another slight smile. "She's very fond of you, and she could do far worse. If she should choose you, you will of course be released from any obligation to me."

"Yes, your Highness." Alexander tried very hard not to sound glum. As pleasant as it would be to serve Princess Euphemia, whom he had known for many years, he did not wish to be anywhere but Princess Cornelia's side. He found the thought of being separated from her disquieting, almost painful.

"The part that matters," Cornelia's tone took a turn for the serious, "is if she does _not_ choose you. While I am gone, Darlton will be in overall military command. However, I am making my sister's safety your personal concern." Her purple eyes gazed into his, as fervent as they were severe. "If you should find fault with her knight's conduct, in _any_ context, then I both permit and _command_ you to take matters into your own hands. Am I understood?"

"Perfectly, your Highness."

"Good. Euphie has an appointment at the Prince Clovis Memorial Art Gallery this evening, so you will present yourself before then. And once you've done that, there is one other mission for you to carry out."

"Your Highness?"

"Tohdoh's execution is slated for this evening. Your orders are to attend and make sure that Kururugi follows through. Take Rai with you, and your knightmares just in case. Major Aker's squad will be on standby. Euphie is not to know. Am I understood?"

"Yes, your Highness." Alexander thought for a moment about Major Graham Aker. He had seemed morose recently, and Alexander knew why. Dame Villetta Nu, with whom he had been involved, had gone missing on the night of the Port Yokosuka battle. Beyond some blood stains turning up as hers, there was no indication of what had become of her. She was officially MIA, but it was more than likely that she was dead. The current rumour was that she had been murdered by Elevens.

Alexander hoped it was not so, as much for Graham's sake as for hers. He considered the older devicer a good comrade, if not exactly a friend.

"Very well," Cornelia concluded. "That will be all." Alexander bowed, turned, and strode out of the office.

Rai was waiting for him in the corridor. The silver-haired youth fell in beside him as he strode along the corridor.

"Sir Alexander?" Rai asked. "What are our orders?"

"To watch a man die," Alexander replied, the coldness of his words belying the sickness in his heart, "by his pupil's hand."

_**

* * *

**_

_**Black Knights hideout, Tokyo Settlement,**__** September 2017 ATB**_

It had been a busy day thus far. So Ougi Kaname thought as he looked for somewhere quiet to sit and eat.

Busy day? How about busy week? Busy _month_ even?

Ever since Zero had arrived things had gotten moving, in ways that Ougi and his resistance comrades would never have thought possible. Though the inner core of the Black Knights remained about the same, a few thousand members, the outer circle was getting wider and deeper all the time. More and more people were signing up to work with the Black Knights, seeing it as their best chance of getting anything done. They came from far and wide, from all corners of Japan, and even from aboard, mercenaries and adventurers coming for a piece of the action. The bulk of them were now training in Nagano, Gifu, and Shiga, interior territories of little interest to the Britannians. The warlords who once dominated those lands were now dead, their forces folded into those of Zero.

And those forces were growing every day, in effectiveness as well as size. The outer circle included around six thousand usable combat troops, with enough heavy equipment for two mechanized infantry brigades, complete with knightmares in accordance with Zero's new organizational system. It was more than the JLF could manage, more than anyone in the resistance could have dreamed of. But it was nothing compared to the five divisions of Cornelia's expeditionary force, which would have to be dealt with when the time finally came.

For the time being, the bulk of Zero's forces would be guerrillas, units of light infantry striking where they could and vanishing into the darkness. They would have knightmares to back them up, plus whatever civilian vehicles they could convert. But they would have to make do with that for the time being.

There had been some colourful characters indeed. That very day, Ougi had been dealing with a group calling itself the Skirted Devils, a group of teenage female, or so he hoped, resistance fighters whose uniform was the stereotypical Japanese girl's school uniform of blue pleated skirt, blue and white 'middy' blouse, short socks for regular fighters and thigh-highs for leaders. Ougi's own conclusion, upon meeting some of them, was that the uniforms had come from some cosplay warehouse. No respectable school would have allowed skirts _that_ short.

And that wasn't all. They had even received a deputation from the so-called Samurai Blood_, _a group whose members professed to be latter-day samurai. Not only did they ornament their armour along that them, but they even carried a _daisho_ pair of swords. They were a snooty and overbearing lot, thinking themselves the greatest and purest of warriors. A great deal of brown-nosing had been necessary to gain their promise, which they could be relied-on not to break. Samurai Blood was an odd lot, but they were good fighters with a reputation for reckless courage.

Things had gotten even _more_ stressful when the two deputations had met eachother in the corridor. Fortunately no one had been seriously injured, and ruffled feathers had been smoothed fast enough to stop either group walking out of the alliance.

His search took him to the parking lot, which was largely empty save for a single low-loader. Ougi sat on an equipment box and set about unwrapping his bento.

And that was something new in itself. He could barely remember the last time he'd eaten an actual bento, at least one made by someone else. He honestly hadn't expected that silver-haired, bronze-skinned woman he'd found unconscious at the port to start cooking for him. But Chigusa, as he had named the amnesiac, was just that sweet. A warm, somewhat unfamiliar feeling swept through him as he opened the box and saw what was inside. She must have found that good bento guide.

"_Octopus hot dogs,_" he thought, his face splitting into a wide smile. "_That girl._"

"Good afternoon."

"No!" Ougi blurted out, slamming the lid back down. "These aren't what you think!"

He looked to his left, where the voice had come from, and found himself staring up into one the most curiously unsettling faces he had ever seen.

The body upon which the face sat was tall and muscular, clad in a black business suit. The skin was bronze, though somewhat lighter than that of Chigusa, with a vaguely middle-eastern look to it. The hair was atypical, from what he knew of people from that part of the world, in that it was red. A dark, running-to-brown red, that for some reason made Ougi think of drying blood. The eyes were narrow, and unreadable.

"Excuse me," the devil said, quite affably. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I was told that Zero could be found in this…_facility_."

"Um…" Ougi's mind boggled, as he wondered how the newcomer had known about the hideout, and how many others he might know about. "Well, he's not actually here at the moment." He managed to stand up, leaving the bento on the box, and bowed shakily. "Ougi Kaname. I'm…well, I'm in charge of this hideout." He held out a hand, and the demon shook it. "May I ask how you got in here?"

"A man with a gun asked me for the password," the devil replied. "I gave it to him, and he let me in. The password was Byron."

"Oh!" Ougi paused, remembering. "Oh, you must be the man from EUROSEC. It's, uh, such an honour to have you here!" The eyes were making him _very_ nervous. "I'm sure Zero will be here soon, so if there's anything we can…you know… get you then…"

"It's quite all right" the demon cut him off, giving him a smile that made him want to run away and climb a tree. "I'm happy to wait."

"Excuse me? Ougi?"

"What? I told you I don't know her!" Ougi yelled, spinning round to see Inoue, his blue-haired colleague, standing behind him. "Oh, Inoue."

"I see you've met Mr Ibrahim," Inoue commented.

"Please," the smile widened. "Call me Hamid."

"In any case, there's some other people here to see you." Inoue gestured to a line of four people standing behind her. Three severe-looking men and one even more severe-looking woman, clad in the green uniforms of the former Japanese Self-Defence Forces. All bowed.

"The…the Four Holy Swords!" Ougi breathed, bowing again.

"I'll get straight to the point here," said the fat one curtly. "We've come to you today to ask you for your help."

"How do you mean?" Ougi asked, wondering what the legendary quartet could possibly want.

"Lieutenant Colonel Tohdoh has been apprehended," the fat one went on. "He sacrificed himself so that we could escape."

"We cannot abandon him," the woman spoke up. "We have come to ask your help in rescuing him." They bowed again. Ougi blinked in surprise, trying to order his thoughts.

"It's all happening here" Hamid commently slyly.

"If…if you'll all follow me, I'll contact Zero directly." Ougi gestured for his guests to follow, leading them towards the MCV, which was parked nearby. His one relief was that the Holy Swords and Hamid weren't killing eachother yet, though the quartet were shooting the newcomer dark glances every now and again.

Once inside he dialled Zero and waited, heart pounding.

"Yes Ougi?" He could hear the familiar voice.

"Zero, sorry to bother you, but it's important."

"I take it Hamid has shown up again?"

"Uh, yes but there's something else. The Four Holy Swords are here too."

"Really?"

"Really. They're saying Tohdoh was captured, and they want our help to bust him out."

There was a pause. Ougi could hear the blood rushing in the veins near his ears.

"I see. We'll help them."

"You're sure?"

"The Black Knights fight for the cause of justice. There's nothing odd about that." Feeling a little relieved, Ougi gave his guests an 'ok' signal with his free hand. The quartet were visibly enlivened.

"We'll gather at assembly point B13" Zero went on. "Take the section knightmares via course 18. Diethard can arrange it all. Also, tell Hamid to meet with Diethard too. He'll know what I intend." Ougi felt a flutter of excitement, and cupped his hand over the phone.

"You're bringing in the Europeans?" he said, as quietly as possible.

"I think it's time Task Force Bolivar showed us what it's capable of," Zero replied. "Diethard will see to it."

_**

* * *

**_

_**Britannian HQ, Tokyo Settlement, September 2017 ATB**_

Alexander found the new roof garden quite pleasant.

It had been commissioned by the late Prince Clovis, who apparently wished to recreate the gardens at Aries Villa, and Alexander could see the connection. The land undulated across the roof, covered in long, soft grass, decorated here and there with elegant gazebos. There were even bushes and trees in places, carefully arranged for just the right visual effect.

Alexander could not help but feel nostalgic in that place. It brought forth memories of his time at Aries Villa, of the days he spent with Prince Lelouch and Princess Nunnally, before they were sent away. There was something, he could not say for certain what, that made him think of their mother, Lady Marianne, who had been so kind to him.

But he did not feel sad, sitting as he was on the grass, the sun warm on his face.

He actually felt nervous. Very, _very _nervous.

"I can't choose _any_ of these!" Princess Euphemia complained. She was sitting not far from him, a leather-bound book open on her lap. The book, Alexander knew, contained the pictures and profiles of those officers Cornelia had judged suitable to be her younger sister's knight. The look on Euphemia's face, and the tone of her voice, told him that she did not feel the same way.

"Look at this one!" She turned the book around so he could see, revealing an oblong-faced baron in the uniform of an RPI officer. "He's old enough to be my _father_!" She snapped the book shut with a flounce.

"Surely there must be _one_," Alexander insisted mildly. "They are all fine officers."

"They're old, ugly, and snobs!" Euphemia retorted. "And don't deny it! I've met some of them! Don't laugh at me!"

"F…forgive me, your Highness!" Alexander managed to stifle his chuckling. "I…I meant no disrespect."

"You're just like Cornelia!" Euphemia pouted. "You both think I'm just a silly little girl don't you!"

"I could never think that of you, your Highness." And that was broadly true. The little girl was now a young woman of sixteen, and as beautiful as he had known she would be. Her pink hair was long, reaching down past her waist, hanging straight as when she was a child but for a pair of braided coils behind her ears. Her gown was white and pink, concealing her shoulders and exposing the base of her neck. She had become the princess her mother had dreamed she would be.

But even so, he could still see something of the inquisitive, excitable little girl he had known so well. Growing up had not changed her completely.

"I know." Euphemia sighed. "I know that Cornelia's just worried about me. But…" She paused, and Alexander was touched by her sadness.

"I thought it would be special," she said. "I thought that I would choose my knight for some great deed, as my sister did with Lord Guilford. And with you."

Alexander remembered, only too well. He would never forget that night at the Military Academy, when he, Cornelia, and Gilbert G. P. Guilford had fought against a gang of terrorists. It had been his first encounter with _that_ man.

"It's embarrassing." Euphemia's cheeks reddened just a little. "But Cornelia's been pressuring me to choose you."

Alexander felt the cold knife in his stomach once again. It was as he feared.

"Alexander, please don't take it the wrong way!" Euphemia protested. "I'd like it very much if you were my knight! But I could never take you away from Cornelia!"

"Your highness, I would be honoured beyond compare if you were to choose me." Alexander lowered his head, hoping she would not see the tears pricking at his eyes. "My only regret is having displeased the Vicereine."

"No!" Euphemia looked mortified at having hurt him so. "Alexander, Cornelia doesn't hate you! She could never hate you!" The fervour in her tone drew Alexander from his sorrow. She smiled a little as he looked her in the eyes.

"My sister is very fond of you," she said, her eyes sincere. "When she was at the Academy, she kept telling me what a nice little companion you were. She was always saying how much she liked having you around, and how helpful you were to her. Not just at the Academy, but on her campaigns too." Alexander could not reply. Her words had, for the moment, overwhelmed him.

"I could never take you away from her," Euphemia said again. "I just know Cornelia would be sad if I did. She's not good at showing it, but she cares about you so much."

She trailed off, her cheeks reddening as she realised what she had said.

"Oh, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," she tried to reassure Alexander, whose face had momentarily turned the colour of his coat. "I just had to tell you."

"I…I am grateful, your Highness." And he was. But with that gratitude came a terrible uncertainty. Should he return her honesty? Should he tell her about Suzaku? About what he was being commanded to do?

Alexander knew that she had taken a certain interest in that young man, and seen how she had wondered and worried about him. If he told her, then he would cause her great distress, and disobey his Princess' command.

"Then tell me," Euphemia asked, fixing him with her gaze. "What should I do? How should I decide?"

"You should do what you think is right, your Highness." It was the best advice Alexander could offer. Euphemia held his gaze for a moment, then seemed to brighten "Besides," she went on, her eyes sparkling. "If I chose you, my friends would never forgive me. They'd jump to all sorts of conclusions!"

"Yes, your Highness." She had not needed to tell him that. His relationship status was the topic of much gossip in Tokyo Settlement. Princess Euphemia was one of the main candidates for his significant-other, though Princess Cornelia had been a long-standing contender ever since it came out that he'd accompanied her to the Military Academy.

"That reminds me." Euphemia's perfect lips split into a vulpine smile. "You've been seen with a young lady. Do tell!"

"I…!" Alexander almost fell on his back. "Your Highness! There is no young lady!"

"Don't lie! You were seen escorting her from Narita to Ashford Academy! She had auburn hair and green eyes!"

"Your Highness! You misunderstand!" Alexander was frantic. "I was only escorting Miss Fenette home! We're not involved!"

"Fenette?" Euphemia thought for a moment. "Fenette, Fenette. I'm sure I've heard the name."

"Miss Shirley Fenette," Alexander explained. "Her father was killed at Narita."

"Oh…" Euphemia's high spirits faded somewhat. "I see. Yes, I must have seen his name on the casualty list. Was she visiting the memorial?"

"Yes. She was…wearied by the experience, and asked that I escort her home."

He would not soon forget that meeting at the memorial. That warm, almost tender encounter, like nothing he'd ever had before. He, the young man stricken with remorse. She, the young girl who lost her father. They had met before the memorial, sharing in their troubles, and none of it seemed quite so bad. Something…had happened there.

Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something, and yet nothing, like a near-forgotten memory, a moment of déjà-vu.

She did indeed have auburn hair, and green eyes that were so sincere, and so full of pain. Her face had not seemed all that beautiful, but that was in the face of stiff competition, for Alexander had seen many beautiful ladies in his time. Shirley Fenette had been no less for it.

"I should have known," Euphemia said, smiling warmly. "It's because you're so kind."

She stood up, and Alexander did likewise. He bowed, then turned to leave.

"Oh, and Alexander?" The knight paused, and turned to face Euphemia again. She was looking away from him, but he could see the look in her eyes.

"Please…look after Suzaku."

"_So,_" Alexander thought. "_She already knew_."

_**

* * *

**_

_**Tokyo Settlement, September 2017 ATB **_

Assembly point B13 was a fancy name for the gap under a road overpass just outside the settlement boundary. There were actually two overpasses overlapping, making aerial observation of the area underneath difficult, while its close proximity to the ghetto meant that police presence was effectively nonexistent. On one side was the heavy concrete barrier, walling off the glittering metropolis, on the other was the ghetto, the blasted, neglected remnant of what had once been a great city.

Britannians did not see what went on at B-13, because they did not care to look beyond the barrier. The Elevens who inhabited the ghetto could not see either, for they were not foolish or desperate enough to live anywhere near the settlement boundary, wherever it happened to be on any given day. It was a good way to get oneself killed, whether in a 'rezoning' or one of the regular sweeps carried out by garrison troops. Police rarely if ever entered the ghettoes. They didn't have the firepower or the nerve.

That did not make the ghettoes entirely safe for the resistance. Though no one who cared to serve Britannia actually lived in a ghetto, there were still ways by which the unfortunate Elevens could be made to serve. There was always someone in desperate need of money, perhaps to pay off a debt or simply to buy food. There might be a loved-one in need of medicine, or even surgery. Or perhaps they just needed a dose of something to take their minds off the squalor. Refrain was popular among those with a bit of money, though for the less discerning customer just about anything would do.

But the Britannians had grown arrogant. They had assumed that their informers would keep on coming back, no matter how little they were given or how badly they were treated. They did not realise their mistake until very few kept on coming, and those few that did were generally passing useless or false information.

They had found a new patron, one who could pay them more, and regularly. But that wasn't the best thing about him.

Zero was hope.

He was also standing near the two vehicles that had pulled up under the lower overpass.

One of them was the Black Knights MCV, actually a recreational vehicle 'donated' to him by a certain nobleman who had no memory of purchasing or owning it. In front of it was an HGV, the rear hatch open to show the _Guren Nishiki_ sitting inside, the right arm hanging from a pulley set in the roof. Two Black Knights, dressed in civilian clothes and wearing the red headbands of the former Shinjuku resistance cell, were working on it.

"I told you not to get the hydraulics mixed up!"

"But this is different from a _Burai_!"

Standing beside the MCV, Zero watched them work, thinking through the coming operation.

All was going well so far. All units had made it to their assembly points without incident, and the deliveries from Kyoto had arrived on time. The recon units had staked out the prison complex, and reported no apparent changes in the security. That meant that if additional forces had been deployed, they would be inside the guard barracks. They wouldn't be a problem so long as he knew where to look for them.

There was, however, one small problem that had arrived with the deliveries.

"Husband!"

The voice was high-pitched and girlish. Zero sighed behind his mask as a young girl of about Nunnally's age, clad in a red skirt and pink blouse with loose white sleeves, bounded up to him from the MCV.

"Oh Zero it's so exciting!" the girl proclaimed, her eyes gleaming. "My first mission by your side!"

"Lady Sumeragi…"

"Please!" Kaguya fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Call me _Kaguya_!"

"Umm… Kaguya…" Zero had enough on his plate without having to deal with _her_ too. "You never told me why you came."

"I wanted to see my husband fight!" Kaguya gave him a coy look. She had very long black hair that hung past her waist. "_And_ I wanted to make sure you were spending my money wisely. It's a wife's duty!"

Zero had to tell himself repeatedly not to dismiss her as an over-excited ingénue. He had met her once before, many years ago at the Kururugi shrine, back when he was still Lelouch vi Britannia. She had been an opinionated and rather bossy young lady, but nothing like _that_. Zero was certain her girlish high-spiritedness, broadly in line with a concept the Japanese had called _moe_, was a deliberate act. She had survived too long as the Head, and only survivor, of House Sumeragi for it to be anything else.

"_She's come to spy on me_," he thought. "_Kyoto wants to know whose side I'm really on_."

The Six Houses of Kyoto, actually only five since the disgrace of House Kururugi, had not raised any objection to him making arrangements with the EU. In truth, Kirihara had not even mentioned it at their meeting. But Zero was certain that the old man knew about Task Force Bolivar, and had probably guessed that he was taking the EU's money. A billion Euros was not to be sneezed at, and there would be more in time. The last thing Kyoto wanted was a powerful, popular hero over whom they had no control.

"Just close it up already!" snapped Shinichiro Tamaki from beside the _Guren_'s folded leg. "It's almost time!"

"Be gentle with it!" a female voice called imperiously. Tamaki looked to see a dark-skinned woman with long blonde hair standing nearby, regarding him with a supercilious expression. "It's made of something a hundred times more delicate than you!"

"Who the hell are you!" Tamaki demanded, rounding on the intruder, who was accompanied by four men. Two of them were dark-skinned like herself, the others lighter skinned. All wore white lab-coats.

"The mother of that child!" the woman retorted.

"Looks like you made it in time," Zero interjected, stepping forward to greet her.

"Oh," the woman said, turning to face him. "So you are Zero? It's nice to meet you, I've heard so much about you."

"The same goes for you, Laksharta. I've read several articles about you in the past." He held out his right hand, and she shook it.

"About me?"

"Articles about medical cybernetics."

"I hate talking about the past," Laksharta Chaula replied, with a rueful smile. "Oh, this is Mandeep Lahdar and Guvinder Singh, two old friends of mine" she gestured to the dark-skinned men, who bowed. "Also," she gestured to the other two men, "Billy Katagiri and Allen Schenberg." The two men bowed also. "These four helped me give birth to my baby, the _Guren Nishiki_."

"Welcome, all of you." Zero gestured to Kaguya, who was still hanging on to his arm. "May I present the Lady Kaguya Sumeragi."

"Your ladyship," Laksharta took Kaguya's proffered hand in turn. "I'm glad you're here. I can show you what we've been doing with all the money you gave us."

"I can't wait!" Kaguya exclaimed, bouncing on her heels. Laksharta seemed quite amused by her.

"Incidentally," Zero interjected. "Did you make the delivery as I asked?"

"Oh yes." Laksharta gave him a wry smile. "I gave them some of my more exotic concept models. It'll be interesting to see how they handle them."

"By the way," Zero turned to the man Laksharta had introduced as Allen Schenberg. "Your name is Allen Schenburg, yes?"

"Uh, yes." What he had thought to be a man was actually a boy of about his own age. He had short brown hair, a tapering chin, and a long nose upon which sat a pair of spectacles. His disposition was somewhat nervous.

"You wouldn't happen to be related to Aeolia Schenberg, would you?"

"He was my grandfather." Allen seemed inordinately pleased that Zero would care to know.

"He certainly was," said Billy Katagiri cheerfully. His hair was a lighter shade of brown, tied in a long pony-tail at the top of his head. "And Allen here is quite the young the genius himself. Laksharta likes to collect them."

"I certainly do," Laksharta agreed wryly. She touched her pipe to the lock of the large suitcase she had brought with her. The suitcase fell open, revealing what looked like a set of g-force suits.

"With Kyoto's compliments."

"Uh, about those," Kallen spoke up, stepping forward from the MCV. She was clad in a red and grey version of those suits, a Black Knights emblem over her left breast. The suit complimented her figure perfectly. "Will these really increase the synchronization rate?"

It was a good question. The latest 7th Generation knightmares came with a system that allowed the pilot to synchronize his or her mind with the controls, resulting in significantly improved reactions. Were it not for Laksharta, Britannia's _Lancelot_ would be the only knightmare in the world to possess the technology.

"No it won't," Laksharta replied, amused.

"Huh?" Kallen was bewildered.

"It's going to increase the survival rate."

_**

* * *

**_

_**Tokyo Settlement Maximum Security Prison**__**, September 2017 ATB**_

The prison complex was vast.

Most of it was empty space, an enormous quadrangle between two curtain walls. The walls were thick enough to need military-grade firepower to penetrate, connecting a series of oblong bastions in which troops and equipment were stored. The inner space was largely empty, save for the prison towers themselves. Each of the six towers was a panopticon, with seven cell blocks radiating out from a central tower like the points of a star. There was plenty of room between each tower, meaning that if any prisoner tried to run he would be gunned down effortlessly by the turrets on the towers.

In truth, the purpose of the weaponry and the fortifications was to keep people out, not in. In most places this would have seemed a contradiction in terms, but this was Area 11. A significant proportion of the prisoners had armed friends on the outside, who might be willing to risk everything to save them.

So Alexander thought as he stood behind the sofa in the governor's office, Rai standing beside him. Seated on the sofa was Lloyd Asplund, whom he had met at Narita, his assistant Cecile Croomy, and Suzaku Kururugi.

Who was not looking at all well.

Alexander kept his eyes forward as Lloyd was given yet another document to sign. But his attention was firmly on the younger boy seated in front of him. Suzaku sat, his forearms on his thighs, head down. He was shivering, and Alexander knew why.

He had to fight down the pity he felt for the youth. Suzaku was being forced to prove his loyalty once again, this time by killing a man he revered. And that wasn't the worst of it. Something in Alexander's soul rebelled at the idea of a man like Kyoshiro Tohdoh dying in so ignoble a fashion. He deserved an honourable death in battle, or the officer's right to suicide, or the martial dignity of a firing squad. Anything other than a bullet in the head, kneeling bound and helpless.

Alexander was tempted, so very tempted. He was a Captain, and Suzaku a Lieutenant. He could pull rank on Suzaku, take the gun, and do the deed himself. He would be disobeying his Princess, doing that which she specifically required Suzaku to do, but at least he would spare that unfortunate youth the horror of killing his own mentor.

Would Cornelia forgive him if he did? Would she punish him for such disobedience? Or would she merely withdraw her affection, her trust?

That was the thought that truly frightened Alexander. The possibility of failing his Princess, of breaching her trust, was more than he could bear.

So he would let it happen. He would obey his Princess' command, and deny his own conscience.

His very uncomfortable train of thought was disturbed by a flash of light in the corner of his eye. Even as he turned to look, he heard the familiar thunderclap, and felt the shudder through his feet.

A section of the curtain wall was wreathed in smoke and flame. An alarm began to howl.

"Looks like I'm free from document hell!" proclaimed Lloyd with inappropriate levity.

"Uh…" the governor spluttered, frozen by shock. "Lord Waldstein…!"

"Ready my _Gloucester_!" Alexander snapped into his earpiece as he darted out into the hallway, Rai hot on his heels.

It took several agonizing minutes to reach the knightmare hangar. It was a stroke of fortune that he and Rai had not bothered to change out of their g-force suits. As they sprinted from the elevator, eight army _Sutherland_s raced out of the open hangar door, heading straight for the damaged wall. The only knightmares remaining were his and Rai's _Gloucesters_.

Alexander darted up the gantry steps and sat down, the seat sliding into the cockpit at the touch of a button. With the twist of his key, his custom _Gloucester _came online, the screen lighting up in a panoply of colours. A quick scan over the console told him all was ready. He keyed his comm.

"Major Aker," he called, as the familiar face appeared on the comm screen. "The prison's under attack by unknown forces!"

"I know!" Aker replied. "We're on our way. ETA three minutes!"

"Under attack! Four unit's in the…!" Alexander turned his attention to the scanner screen. Sure enough there were four enemy contacts, all knightmares, engaged with the knightmares he had seen move out a few moments earlier.

The newcomers were potent indeed. Alexander stared as one friendly icon winked out after another. The enemy quartet moved as if ruled by one will, clustering and breaking apart like a blooming flower. The next thing he knew, all the _Sutherland_s were down.

"Waldstein to prison control!" Alexander barked into his comm. "Sitrep! Over!"

"Prison control to HQ! We're under heavy mortar attack! Request immediate assistance!"

"Bastion 4 to control! We've lost all our turrets! Please send reinforcements!"

"Tower D to control! Under heavy…!"

Alexander jabbed at the controls, shutting off the comm. He had no time to make sense of the cacophony.

"Rai! Follow me!"

"Yes, my Lord!" Alexander pressed down the pedals, and his _Gloucester_ rolled out of the hangar, Rai taking up position behind and to his right. They raced between the lines of prison towers, many of them belching smoke. Alexander started as an explosion blossomed from one of the towers, and another flashed on the ground in front of him. He drew the sticks sideways, bringing his _Gloucester _across and around the crater in a graceful arc.

The four contacts rounded the corner at the opposite end, racing towards him. Alexander could see them clearly. They were not the usual _Burai_s, but something new. The newcomers were coloured teal, as smooth and rounded as the _Burai_s were blocky, curiously graceful as they sped towards him. Their curving torsos put him in mind of a hunting bird's hooked beak, an allusion that was almost certainly deliberate. Their heads were narrow, cyclopean eyes glowing in the night.

All four raised their left arms, wrist-mounted autocannons blazing fire. Alexander and Rai zigzagged, bullets whistling past. The quartet broke off, two going right, two going left. As they disappeared from sight there was another explosion, this time from the wall to Alexander's left. Alexander looked down at his scanner screen, and saw for the first time two contacts standing stationary by one of the cell blocks. With so many of the prison's sensors destroyed by the bombardment, it was little wonder they hadn't appeared before.

"This is _Lancelot_!" He looked at his comm screen to see Suzaku Kururugi's face. "Requesting a situation report!"

"This is Waldstein!" Alexander replied, glancing quickly at his scanner. "There are two contacts at Tower D, Cell Block 4, and two more heading that way! We'll keep their reinforcements off while you deal with them!"

"Yes, my Lord!" Alexander saw the _Lancelot_'s icon speeding off towards the two new contacts. He knew exactly what those two were doing, and knew as such that they had to be stopped. If they were who he thought they were, then Kururugi was the one to deal with them.

Even so, four on one was not good odds, and Alexander's instinct was to go and help. But before he could do so four more knightmares appeared out of the burning hole in front of him. Four black _Burais, _opening fire as they closed.

"Rai, take the right pair! I'll take the left!"

"Yes my Lord!" Alexander felt a surge of satisfaction as he saw Rai move smoothly to the attack, zigzagging while firing short bursts from his Assault Rifle. In his experience most knightmare pilots fired on full auto, rock'n'rolling as the infantry put it, substituting weight of fire for accuracy. He would zigzag as fast as he could, throwing off the enemy's aim and forcing him to sweep his fire in an attempt to keep up. It rarely worked.

But these enemies were different. Instead of firing full auto, they spat short, staccato bursts at him and Rai. Alexander found himself hard-pressed to dodge their fire, even as Rai downed one of his targets.

These Black Knights were better devicers than those of the JLF. Of that, Alexander was now certain.

Cursing his overconfidence, Alexander pressed down his joysticks and clicked the rollerballs, his knightmare's arms reaching down to draw his Machine Pistols. The two Black Knights in front of him showed their prowess once again, splitting apart as they continued firing. Momentarily surprised, Alexander managed to draw a bead on one of them, but most of his shots went wide.

But he was in fighting trim now. As the black knightmare seemed to grow larger and larger on his forward screen, Alexander fired his Slash Harkens, breaking right an instant later. The enemy's own Slash Harkens flashed through the empty air he had occupied earlier, and Alexander saw his anchors hit the black knightmare full into the torso, knocking it to the ground in a shower of sparks. The _Burai_ disintegrated, the cockpit breaking away in a blaze of rocket motors. But the angle was too shallow, and the cockpit crashed straight into the wall of a nearby cell block. The impact was enough to crater the wall, the crumpled cockpit thumping to the ground below.

Alexander had no time to pity the enemy devicer his misfortune. He spun his _Gloucester_ on its heels, flailing his Slash Harkens around at the other _Burai_. But the pilot was on the ball, dropping into the splits as the anchors flew overhead, drawing something long and narrow from its back. Alexander twiddled his thumbs on the rollerballs, retracting the anchors while activating a macro specially programmed for him. The knightmare responded, holstering the Machine Pistols and reaching for the Heat Katana that hung beside his cockpit.

The enemy came at him, its own Heat Katana flashing orange. Alexander slammed his heels down, his knightmare reversing away. The _Burai _kept coming, but Alexander had bought enough time to draw his weapon. His Heat Katana came online, and Alexander brought the glowing blade up to block the _Burai_'s overhead strike. He dropped his blade and broke right, his _Gloucester_'s cloak billowing as he spun. But the enemy spun also, pirouetting to catch his blow. Alexander broke away again, this time falling straight back. His enemy came straight on, blade held high. Alexander slowed, willing his pounding heart to slow, and praying that his enemy thought him weakened.

The _Burai_ took the bait, continuing the pursuit. In mere moments it had caught up with him. The blade flashed down.

But Alexander was not there. Instead he was spinning, momentum taking him around and around. The _Burai_ flashed past, and Alexander's blade caught the black knightmare in the back of its narrow waist. The _Burai_ collapsed, momentum bringing it crashing to the ground. The cockpit blazed free, its engines bearing it high into the air, over the wall and out of sight.

Alexander felt strangely satisfied. His opponent had been worthy.

"Nice kills both of you!" came a cheerful voice from the comm. Alexander looked up to see six blue-painted _Gloucester_s descend from a circle of horseshoe-shaped transporters. Rai, who had similarly defeated his two opponents, rolled up to stand beside him.

"Major Aker!" Alexander was mildly surprised at Graham's apparent good humour. "What's the situation?"

"They've breached the walls in two places!" Graham replied. "They've got mortar teams shooting and relocating! Intel can't pin down their frequency!"

Alexander felt cold in his stomach. If these were indeed the Black Knights, as he suspected they were, then they were no mere terrorist gang. That the gunships prowling overhead had not succeeded in blasting the mortar teams out of existence confirmed that they were constantly relocating. That took military training, military organization, and military communications equipment. It also meant that their leadership were at least somewhat familiar with military practices and methodology. There were more than enough soldiers of the former Japanese Self Defence Forces floating around, and Zero had pulled together a large number of them.

And the Vicereine, his Princess, was out of the country.

"There are at least six knightmares inside the walls!" Alexander managed to reply. "Four of a new design I haven't seen before! Be wary of them!"

"Understood!"

"New frames huh?" Sir Daryl Dodge commented, grinning. "I like a challenge!"

"We should move quickly," Dame Soma Peries interjected. "I saw an HGV driving in as we approached. They're almost certainly rescuing Tohdoh."

"I reckon so. Captain Waldstein, Lieutenant Rai, take point and see what they're doing."

"Yes, my Lord." Alexander eased his knightmare to the corner of the cell block, and peered around.

He looked down the gap between the two lines of towers, as long and wide as any Pendragon boulevard. At the opposite end he could see the HGV Dame Soma had mentioned, pulling to a halt as the four knightmares he had seen before took up formation around it, while another four black _Burai_s took up position further away. As he watched, two more knightmares came racing towards it. One was red, the other black.

Alexander keyed the zoom function. He recognized them both immediately.

"Major Aker, its Zero and the _Guren Nishiki_!"

"You're sure!"

"I'm certain, Major! There's four _Burai_s, the four others and…I think one more!"

"Datalink!" Graham barked. Alexander obeyed.

"That's eleven of them, and seven of us," Graham growled. "All units report in!"

"This is Garrison Platoon Squad B," a voice came back. "We're cut off from control! Requesting orders!"

"This is Major Aker, ADKC! The enemy is in the opposite end from us! Come at them from your side, we'll take them from the front! Understood!"

"Yes my lord!" Alexander checked his scanner screen, and saw the six icons moving along the gap between the curtain walls. It would be a minute or two before they were in position to attack.

"The telemetry's lousy!" Sir Daryl complained. "All the scanners got knocked out! How could they do that!"

"Someone's feeding them coordinates," Alexander interjected. "It's the only way they could be so accurate."

"Impossible!" Sir Howard Mason protested. "There's no transmissions coming from down there!"

"It's not them," hissed a voice over the comm. It took Alexander a moment to realise that Sir Andrei Smirnov had spoken. Alexander keyed him, and was stunned by the look on the older knight's face. The man looked haunted, and enraged.

"Andrei?" Daryl's brow furrowed. "What…?"

"I caught a transmission a minute ago," Andrei growled. "It was only a fragment, but it was using EU military jargon." For an instant, there was silence.

"That can't be!" Sir Howard spluttered. "You're crazy! Elevens wouldn't use EU code! You misheard it!"

"It's them!" Sir Andrei roared, eyes bulging. "It's the Grey Bear! He's here!"

"Why the hell would he be here!" Sir Howard protested. "You're going nuts!"

"He's here!" Sir Andrei would not be swayed. "He's here! He's come to ruin everything! Just like he…!"

"ENOUGH!" Graham roared, veins standing out on his temples. "Quit harping about your damned father or I'll kill you where you stand!"

"It's irrelevant where they're from," Dame Soma interjected, the only one able to speak in the face of Graham's fury. "I submit that we must attack. Squad B is almost in position."

"You're right," Graham managed to calm himself. "We'll head up the middle and take them from the front! Watch your backs! Meister you're on point!"

"Yes my Lord!" Alexander took up the lead position and raced out into the open space, the others spreading out into formation behind him.

The four _Burai_s reacted first. All four raced forward to form a line in his path, while the four teal knightmares broke left and right. They opened up, firing in short bursts as their late fellows had done. Graham's _Gloucesters_ dodged in quick zigzags, returning fire in the same fashion. The air between the knightmares filled with bright tracer fire as both sides closed in. Sir Andrei's _Gloucester_ took a hit in the knee, the lower leg flying off in a shower of sparks. The knightmare collapsed, the cockpit blasting free.

Alexander drew his Machine Pistols, drawing a bead on the nearest _Burai_. It tried to dodge, but he was faster, his shots tearing into the blocky torso. The _Burai_ exploded, but Alexander was already picking his next target. Two more _Burai_s fell in rapid succession, and Alexander downed the forth.

He glanced at his screen, as Graham and his squad moved in to engage the four teal knightmares. He saw six friendly icons moving in his direction from in front and to the right, behind the nearest prison tower. He looked up, and saw Squad 2 come around the block at full speed, spreading out into line abreast. As they came, he saw the white figure of the _Lancelot, _locked in combat with a black knightmare. As he looked more closely, he saw that it was a black version of the teal knightmares. Nearby waited another black _Burai_ with the native-styled head crest, most likely Zero, and the _Guren Nishiki,_ no doubt preparing to assist the black knightmare if the battle went against it.

Alexander felt the thrill of victory. The Black Knights were trapped.

Then one of the oncoming _Sutherland_s exploded.

The triumph was replaced with cold horror as three more knightmares rounded the corner, gunfire blazing from their wrists. For an instant, Alexander was frozen in place, taken by surprise.

An unexplainable instinct pressed his feet down on the pedals, his _Gloucester_ flashing sideways.

Something tore through the air, passing like a hurricane through the space he had occupied a moment earlier. The force of it shredded his knightmare's black cape, hitting the ground so hard that his knightmare almost fell over. The paving glowed, turned to plasma by the impact.

That same instinct, that flicker of thought, drew Alexander's attention to the centre-west prison tower. The roofs of the cell blocks were wreathed in smoke, but all the same he saw something.

A knightmare, barely visible in the smoke, a long-barrelled weapon fixed to its forearm and shoulder, aimed square at him.

"SNIPER!"

* * *

Kallen could not believe what she was seeing.

She had been all set to take down those six _Sutherlands_, when all of a sudden some complete strangers had turned up and started laying into them. What was more, they were piloting _Gekka_s.

"Zero!" she yelled into her comm. "Who are…!"

"It's all right Kallen!" Zero replied. "They're here to help!"

"They are!"

"They are indeed!" Laksharta's voice interjected. "How do you like my concept models?"

"They're…" Kallen was lost for words. They looked much like the _Gekkas_ given to the Four Holy Swords, but each one was kitted out differently. One was teal like the others, but with bulbous shoulders. The one in the middle was scarlet, like her _Guren_, but otherwise standard. The one on the left was gold, with a short-barrelled gun of some kind on the right shoulder, and a clawed gauntlet not dissimilar to her Radiant Wave Surger.

_Concept model_, she concluded, was a mad engineer's euphemism for _some nutty idea I came up with one night while stoned._

The five _Sutherlands _spun on their heels, firing desperately. But it was too late, for the trio were already upon them. The teal _Gekka_ drew from its back a pair of short-handled axes, twirling them in its long-fingered hands as it came on. It drove between two _Sutherland_s at full speed, its axes taking them both at the waist. Its scarlet counterpart drew a Heat Katana with its left hand, while also drawing what looked like a long rapier with its right. The red _Gekka_ came on, breaking right then driving straight at the nearest _Sutherland_ on a diagonal, the rapier slicing into the torso. The _Gekka_ pirouetted, momentum drawing out the rapier as the _Sutherland _exploded, slashing at the next _Sutherland_ with the curved Heat Katana. The _Sutherland_ collapsed, the cockpit blasting away to safety.

At the same time the gold _Gekka_ charged at the remaining _Sutherland_, drawing back its right arm. The gauntlet crackled with dire energies Kallen knew well. The _Sutherland_ tried to dodge, but the silver talons fastened upon its head, the gauntlet clamping down. The _Sutherland_ shuddered, bubbling and deforming as microwave radiation seared through it. The knightmare exploded, but the gold _Gekka_ was already moving.

"AAAAAAAALL RIGHT!" yelled the teal _Gekka. _"Patrick Colasour is on the field!"

"Quit screaming on the comm!" retorted the scarlet _Gekka_, its voice young and female. "You're acting like an idiot!"

"Don't call me an idiot! I'll bust you down to canteen girl!"

"I'll sic my Saji on you!"

"Would you mind focussing on the battle!" growled a very disconcerting voice from the gold _Gekka_. "This place is about to get hot."

"Okay okay!" the teal _Gekka_, otherwise known as Patrick Colasour, pulling to a halt opposite Kallen. "Hey you guys! I'm gonna light'em up!"

"Understood!" the Four Holy Swords replied in unison. With their customary fluid grace the four _Gekka_s broke off the combat, pulling back away from the blue _Gloucester_s. In that very instant the teal custom Gekka's bulbous shoulders clicked open. Shrieking like fireworks, a flurry of missiles burst forth, a score of white contrails cutting through the air to crash down among the blue _Gloucesters_. The Britannians scattered as explosions cracked and flashed.

"Well, that seemed to work!" Laksharta commented cheerfully. "I based it on the Britannian _Saddlewaffen_!"

"Wait just a minute!" Kallen snapped. "How come that gold guy gets a Radiant Wave Surger! I thought that was just for my _Guren_!"

"Are you jealous?" the scientist teased. "Don't worry! It's a prototype of the new version I'm building for you."

"Why didn't you just give it to me!" Kallen demanded.

"Well I could've done, if you don't mind its unfortunate tendency to explode at awkward moments." Kallen decided to drop the matter. Laksharta was even more twisted than she had previously suspected.

"All right!" Colasour bellowed again. "Let's kick their…!" He was interrupted by a grey blur racing out of the smoke. The grey _Gloucester _fired its Slash Harkens, one hitting the _Gekka_'s right shoulder, the other hitting its head. The _Gekka_ tried to raise its remaining arm, only for the _Gloucester _to cut it off with a swift slash from of its Heat Katana.

"_Heat Katana_!" Kallen thought, then realised she had seen the unusual knightmare before.

The dismembered _Gekka_ shrieked a series of expletives as it backed away.

"Leave this one to me!" the gold _Gekka_ roared, racing past Kallen to engage the newcomer.

* * *

Alexander hissed as the gold knightmare leapt at him. He brought up his sword, barely managing to catch the grasping gauntlet. He spun, pulling the sword away as the gold knightmare swept past. He had seen what that weapon could do, and had no intention of falling victim to it.

His enemy came around, bending at the waist like a champion skater. Like the others it had an autocannon set in its forearm, blazing fire as it began another attack run. It grabbed at him, talons crackling, but Alexander dodged sideways, cutting at the knightmare's waist with his sword. The gold knightmare somehow managed to break away, the blade hissing as it cut through thin air.

That same twinge again. Alexander found himself bringing his sword up in front as if to block. An instant later the gold knightmare fired its single Slash Harken from its chest, bouncing off his blade.

How had he foreseen it? Why was this enemy's style so familiar?

It couldn't be…

He pressed his heels back, reversing away as the enemy came on again.

It was _him._ He was sure of it. He was fighting the man he had fought at Port Yokosuka.

And at Seraphaum.

And at the Military Academy.

Why _him_?

As he fell back, he saw the black knightmare strike at the _Lancelot_, its black sword cutting up through the cockpit. The top fell away, and Alexander could see Suzaku clearly. The black knightmare came on again, pressing its blade to Suzaku's own. Then, to Alexander's surprise, the black knightmare's cockpit opened, and he saw a tall, thin man half-rise to face Suzaku.

_Kyoshiroh Tohdoh._

He saw the man's mouth move, and Suzaku's mouth move also, though he could not hear what they were saying. He wondered at what was passing between them. Was the teacher admonishing his former student?

Might Princess Cornelia's concerns have been justified?

There was no time to answer the question, for the gold knightmare was coming at him again. He dodged the grasping gauntlet, dodged again, and again. But still the enemy came at him, silver talons reaching to grasp him and end his existence in a blaze of radiation.

"Sir Alexander!" Rai's voice invaded his concentration. "There's only us left!"

With a desperate push on the pedals, Alexander managed to break away from the gold knightmare, giving himself enough time to glance around. Indeed, Rai was the only knightmare still active, desperately fending off the scarlet knightmare with the rapier. The rest had been crippled, most likely in that previous missile barrage. There was no sign of the sniper. He evidently did not wish to fire on enemies in such close proximity to his allies.

The situation was getting desperate. Alexander dodged the gold knightmare again as the four teal knightmares raced past him, moving to surround Suzaku.

He wanted to help his comrade, dare he say his _friend_, but he could not. He could not disengage from the gold knightmare, a machine that could match its user's deadly skill. He could not block the gold knightmare's blows, for he had nothing that could resist the power of the radiation gauntlet. All he could do was evade, and all the enemy had to do was keep attacking him.

He had been stalemated. And Suzaku was alone.

But Suzaku was not defeated. Even as the four teal knightmares circled him, like wolves circling their prey, the _Lancelot _fought back. It fired all four Slash Harkens at once, the anchors bursting out and into the path of its tormentors. Three had their swords knocked away, and the black knightmare suffered the same. _Lancelot_ spun as it withdrew the Harkens, hurling its sword at the one teal knightmare to retain its weapon. The blade struck it in the torso, but miraculously the knightmare did not explode. It fell away, smoke billowing from the trapped blade, its fellows falling in around it.

Alexander managed to break away again. But for some reason the gold knightmare did not follow him. Instead it was staring up at the sky. Mystified, Alexander followed its line of sight.

His heart leapt. High in the sky were transporter VTOLs, scores of them, each carrying a single _Sutherland_. The reinforcements had finally arrived.

The gold knightmare acted. The gun on its right shoulder swivelled upward, aiming at the oncoming VTOLs. Alexander opened his mouth to scream as lightning crackled around the gun, a dark shape leaping from the barrel and into the night sky.

He saw the flash, time seeming to slow down. Explosions lit up the sky as hundreds of ball-bearings, launched by an electromagnetic pulse of prodigious power and brief life, slashed through the sky, tearing the unsuspecting VTOLs and their knightmares apart.

_Chaos Grenade_

Alexander screamed in unreasoning rage, slamming down the pedals to hurl himself at the gold knightmare. But it was already retreating, glittering chaff smoke pouring from its back. The other knightmares did likewise, and within in instant the complex was filled with billowing clouds. Tiny silver motes drifted gently to the ground like snowflakes.

His scanner screen went blank, warning lights blinking red. Even his camera image crackled and distorted.

It was over.

_**

* * *

**_

_**Black Knights hideout**_

Back at the hideout, the Black Knights were agog.

All had gathered in the main hangar, or rather the warehouse space that passed for it, to see the new arrivals. They had gaped at the new resplendent new knightmares, the teal _Gekka_s and the black custom _Gekka_, and they had gaped even more at the man who stepped down from it.

The men and women of the former JLF had pushed their way to the front, forming up to salute Colonel Kyoshiroh Tohdoh, the legendary miracle worker, who had won the victory at Itsukushima. He had returned their salutes, once he had finished his brief reunion with the Four Holy Swords, and a round of hand-shaking and autograph requests followed.

Kallen Kozuki watched disconsolately from beside her _Guren_. It was not that she was unhappy to see the Colonel, or that he had been successfully rescued. It was not the fact that eight _Burai_ knightmares had been lost. They would be replaced soon enough with the superior _Gekka_s, if Lady Kaguya's promises were to be believed. It was not even the fact that only four of the eight pilots had been saved. The losses were sad in themselves, but they were not crippling to the organization. She did not even know them personally.

The problem was the young man she had seen in the _Lancelot_'s cockpit, and the effect that little revelation seemed to have had on Zero.

She would never have believed it. There they were, with the chance of a lifetime to finish the _Lancelot_, and he ordered a retreat. A _retreat_! All right, there had been enemy forces incoming, but it wouldn't have taken long, not if she'd been allowed to weigh in. Then he'd spent several minutes locked up in his cockpit, responding to no one, not even her. At one point she could have sworn he was laughing like a madman.

And _Suzaku_. To think that polite, rule-obsessed Suzaku Kururugi was secretly the pilot of the _Lancelot_. What would Lelouch say?

Lelouch…

It was still taking some getting used-to. Kallen had found that she could deal with Lelouch more easily now that she knew the truth. She no longer had to deal with conflicted feelings, or fears that he might find something out. But she still couldn't make sense of how it had happened. Why would Lelouch betray Britannia for the sake of Zero? There must have been a reason, but she just couldn't figure it out.

Maybe Zero was just that special. Maybe Zero had given Lelouch something to believe in, an ideal with which he could not so easily find fault.

Or maybe it was something else. Maybe Zero had some serious dirt on Lelouch, or was threatening him. Maybe it had something to do with Nunnally.

Kallen shook the thought away. There was no way Zero would do something like that. There was probably no point in telling Lelouch what she had seen, or even mentioning it, for the image of Suzaku in the _Lancelot_'s exposed cockpit was being broadcast all over the empire.

Even so…

"Please excuse the delay!" Kallen looked up as the familiar voice reverberated across the warehouse. The assembled Black Knights looked up as Zero approached, their jubilation faltering somewhat at the sight of the man walking beside him.

A very tall man, with dark red hair and a devil's eyes. A man Kallen had seen hanging around earlier that day.

"Colonel Tohdoh," Zero proclaimed, stepping up to the hero as the crowd parted. "I'd like to take this opportunity to welcome you properly." He held out a black-gloved hand, and Tohdoh shook it.

"Also," Zero went on, turning to address all present. "Mr Hamid Ibrahim here wishes to introduce some new allies of ours." Kallen saw Zero press a remote control in his other hand. With a clunk and clatter, the main door began to rise. The assembled Black Knights squinted as light flooded in, some raising arms to shield their eyes. The light was coming from the headlamps of four knightmares, the same four that had turned up during the prison raid.

Out of the blinding light came seven figures, striding forward in a line. They halted just as they were close enough to be visible, the lights turning down behind them. All were clad in plain grey fatigues without insignia. On the right was a severe-looking woman with brown hair tied at the back. Next to her was a somewhat younger, gentler-looking woman with long, chocolate-coloured hair that cascaded to her shoulders. Next was a young man with dark red hair and an air of boyish overconfidence. Kallen had the strange feeling that he was the one piloting the teal custom _Gekka. _

A younger man stood beside him, maybe a year or two older than Kallen, with curly brown hair and a gentle, soulful aspect. Next along was a girl of about Kallen's own age with blonde hair reaching a waist that elicited a twinge of jealousy. Beside her was a boy of the same age, his neatly-combed hair dark brown running to black, reaching down the back of his neck.

The one next to him, standing at the left of the line, was the strangest of all. For one he was considerably shorter, and appeared to be much younger, no more than about twelve years old. His hair was blond and curly, adding to the youthful look, which was only partly offset by the professionally emotionless expression.

All snapped to attention, each saluting as they rattled off their names.

"Colonel Kati Mannequin! EUROFORCE Strategos Corps!"

"Colonel Lisa Kujo! EUROFORCE Strategos Corps!"

"Lieutenant Patrick Colasour! EUROFORCE Paladin Corps! Conde Brigade!"

"Paladin Neil Dylandy! EUROFORCE Paladin Corps! Tyrone Brigade!"

"Paladin Louise Halevy! EUROFORCE Paladin Corps! Vivar Brigade!"

"Technician Second Grade Saji Tsuji! EUROFORCE Combat Support Corps!"

"Technician Second Grade Jacque Sant-Clare! EUROFORCE Engineering Support Corps!"

There was a long, astonished pause from most of the Black Knights. The only ones to react immediately were Tohdoh and the JLF personnel, who snapped to attention and returned the salutes.

"Welcome, all of you!" proclaimed Zero, with a dramatic flourish. "Welcome, Task Force Bolivar!"

**

* * *

**

**(I'm glad I got this done before the end of the month. I hope to have my next 'Sum of our Choices' chapter done by the end of next month. As a minor point, the brigades mentioned by Patrick, Louise, and Neil are the same airborne brigades as mentioned in 'Sum', the difference being that I named the Spanish brigade Vivar. The EUROFORCE Paladin Corps acts as EUROFORCE's knightmare cadre, providing the pilots for the brigades as well as some autonomous units. **

**As for Andrei's issue with his father, that'll be explained in chapters to come.)**


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_**Britannian HQ, Tokyo Settlement, September 2017 ATB**_

Alexander felt awkward.

It was not the palatial ballroom that made him feel awkward. Nor was it the various nobles and functionaries crowded either side of the red carpet. It was not even Princess Euphemia, seated upon a throne before a vast Britannian flag.

It was the young man waiting in the corridor outside, or rather what he represented.

For it was the day that Suzaku Kururugi would be knighted.

He stood near the back of the ballroom, Rai standing next to him. He could hear the mutterings in the crowd around him. Their tones varied from amusement to disgust.

"He might be an Honourary Britannian, but knighting an Eleven is just…"

Alexander knew what it was. It was unknown, unprecedented, unimaginable. It went against everything the Empire professed to stand for. Numbers were at the bottom of the hierarchy, looked down upon by all. Lower-class Britannians hated them for taking their jobs. Middle-class Britannians feared and resented them as they feared and resented the lower classes. Upper-class Britannians despised the lower classes in general, regarding them as uncouth barbarians whose poverty was just punishment for their lack of ability and virtue. They tolerated the middle class as necessary allies, for the middle class was not only large enough to out-vote the lower classes, but also aspired to the wealth and gentility of the upper classes, meaning they would never try to curtail their privileges.

For a Number to become a Knight was hardly a threat to the status quo, at least not if it was only one. But if Euphemia started a trend…

The double doors clunked open. Some of the audience turned to glance at Suzaku as he strode along the red carpet. He was clad in the elaborate white uniform of a knight, a sword hanging from his belt. His face wore an expression of dignified calm.

"_There but for the grace of God go I…_"

But for a trick of fate, but for a certain man turning a certain corner at a certain time, it might have been him out there.

"How do you suppose he got the job?" someone whispered.

"Well, she _is_ a young Princess, and he is a young man." That last comment was met with sniggers. Alexander felt a twinge of anger, of frustration that someone could think that way about Princess Euphemia. He clenched his fists, willing the tension to ease.

Suzaku reached the top of the steps, lowering himself to one knee in supplication. Every movement was perfect, the fruit of hours of practice. Alexander knew that Suzaku would do anything rather than shame his patroness, especially on such an important day.

"Suzaku Kururugi." Euphemia's voice was high and clear. "Wilt thou upon this day pledge thy fealty to Britannia, and stand as a Knight of the Crown?"

"Yes, your Highness."

"Dost thou wish to abandon thyself, and be sword and shield for the sake of justice?"

"Yes, your Highness."

A shiver ran through Alexander as Suzaku drew his sword, holding its pommel towards Euphemia, the point over his heart. He knew that part of the ritual well. Suzaku was putting his life in his Princess' hands, the power hers to lift the blade and knight him, or thrust it into his heart. He had done so himself, when he was only a child, for Princess Cornelia. He had known its meaning even then, though his heart would not let him do otherwise. Part of him suspected that Suzaku felt the same way.

His heart pounded as Euphemia put her hands around the sword's handle. She lifted it two-handed to _en garde_ position, the blade concealing her face from the audience.

"I dub thee Sir Suzaku Kururugi, Knight of the Empire. Once," she touched the blade to his shoulder, "twice" to the other, "and three times." She returned his sword to him, and Sir Suzaku Kururugi stood up. He turned to face the audience.

Silence.

Alexander felt cold in the pit of his stomach. The response was plain, whether it was by hostility or herd instinct. He glanced at Suzaku. The youth's face was expressionless, but Alexander could see his disappointment. He could also see the Princess' mouth growing tighter by the second. She was on the verge of taking their silence as a personal affront. There was going to be trouble.

Or perhaps they did not fear her disfavour.

Alexander decided. He raised his hands to clap.

But someone was already clapping, the sound like thunder in the silent chamber. Alexander glanced around, trying to follow the sound.

It was Lloyd Asplund, a sly smile on his narrow face. The dam broke, and the sound of clapping grew louder and louder. In what seemed like a mere instant, the chamber echoed with applause.

The ceremony done, Princess Euphemia swept out, followed by her new knight. As her footsteps receded down the corridor, nervous muttering broke out among the audience. Seeing that Lloyd was alone, Alexander wandered over, followed by Rai.

"Ah, young Sir Alexander," Lloyd oiled, proffering his hand. "So good to see you alive, _and_ with your sanity intact."

"Your lordship," Alexander bowed as he took it. "I wanted to thank you."

"For taking the initiative?" the bespectacled Earl sounded almost surprised. "In my line of work it pays to. And the poor boy deserves better than a public humiliation." He glanced around, seeming not at all impressed.

"And Rai, isn't it?" he turned his attention to Alexander's silver-haired companion. "I seem to recall Suzaku mentioning you. At Ashford Academy?"

"Yes, your Lordship." Rai bowed, flattered that Lloyd would care to notice him.

"I had best be off, now that the main event's over. Will you walk with me, Sir Alexander?"

"By all means, your lordship." Sensing that Lloyd meant the invitation for him alone, Alexander turned to Rai. "You may go, Rai."

"Thank you, Sir Alexander." Rai snapped his heels together, bowed, then disappeared into the throng. Earl and Viscount likewise left the ballroom, heading along the main corridor. The walls were lined with portraits, some of them brought in by the Vicereine and her sister, others left by the late Prince Clovis.

"Ah, my ancestor," Lloyd commented, looking up at one of the portraits. Alexander followed his gaze, and saw the portrait of a handsome woman, dressed in a style fashionable over a century earlier, with a face reminiscent of Lloyd. "Marmaduke, first Earl Asplund."

Alexander opened his mouth to speak, then paused as the words sunk in. Lloyd noticed his reaction and chuckled.

"Yes, Sir Alexander, that is what you think it is. Whoever chose this portrait must have had a certain sense of humour. I know the artist did."

"I daresay, your Lordship," Alexander forced the words out, face burning with embarrassment, images of Luluko rising unbidden in his mind. His discomfiture seemed to amuse the 'Pudding Earl' no end.

"It was one of his little jokes," he explained. "He used to dress up like that to try and get a rise out of Emperor Lothar, though that was like getting blood out of a stone, or an Ashford out of a party."

Despite his embarrassment, Alexander was more than a little intrigued. Lothar el Britannia was one of the most revered of Britannia's Emperors. His fame derived mostly from his success in the North-South War, in which he had displayed not only great courage and leadership, but great foresight too. That latter quality was symbolized more than anything else in his choice of servants, not only his Chancellor Abraham Lincoln, but Marmaduke Asplund too.

Technology had advanced rapidly since the discovery of the superconductive properties of sakuradite, just over a hundred years before Alexander Waldstein, and for that matter Soran Ibrahim, had been born. But Britannia's fixation with knightly values had left it behind on the curve, either neglecting technology or forcing it down bizarre paths. The southern lords armed their troops with bolt-action rifles and volley guns, reverse-engineered from European designs. Lothar spent three years trying to prevent his generals wasting too many lives while re-equipping his troops with the best weapons his designers could come up with.

Best remembered of all of them was Marmaduke Asplund. As the war reached into the sky, the race was afoot to combine a sakuradite-based Faraday engine with an armament capable of inflicting meaningful damage and a fuselage that could actually fly. Asplund's particular contribution had passed on all three counts, though he had thrown in a mechanism allowing the machine guns to be fired through the forward propeller. It had earned Asplund his Earldom.

That much of the story Alexander knew already. He had first read about it as a child, back in his father's home at La Casa Pacifica. He had learnt about it in more detail later, in the Cadet School at Colchester. But in that particular place and time there was an irony that struck him.

The sakuradite, so vital to the creation of Asplund's new fighters, had been imported from Japan.

"I get the strange impression, Sir Alexander," Lloyd commented, continuing along the corridor, "that you want to ask me something."

"Yes, your lordship," Alexander replied, falling in beside him. It was true, for a couple of other things had been bothering him ever since the battle at the prison. "Regarding the knightmares at the prison."

"Ah!" Lloyd beamed. "I was wondering when you would ask me about them."

"I've never seen knightmares like those before, and Intel hasn't either. If you don't mind, your lordship."  
"Mind?" Lloyd shot him a questioning look. "Interesting you should ask me that. If I were to answer, I would be breaching one of the fundamental rules of faction."

"I don't understand, your lordship."

"We have different patrons, you and I," Lloyd replied, still smiling. "Yours is Princess Cornelia, mine is Prince Schneizel. As your patroness succours you, you succour your patroness. Thus, anything I tell you will ultimately benefit Princess Cornelia, perhaps to the detriment of Prince Schneizel."

"I see," said Alexander, somewhat crestfallen.

"But I'll tell you anyway," Lloyd proclaimed, beaming. "Because I find you so amusing." Alexander was not sure how he should respond to such a sentiment, so he said nothing.

"Anyway, those new knightmares are what the locals are rather romantically calling the _Gekka, _meaning _moonlight. _From what your people were able to tell me, it seems to be a mass-production version of the _Guren Nishiki._"

"That red one?" Alexander was intrigued.

"Yes, though nothing like as potent. Most of the ones you saw were the standard model, plus some suitably bizarre concept models. I wonder what Rakshata's been putting in her pipe recently."

"Who?"

"Rakshata Chaula." Lloyd's countenance darkened suddenly. "A blast from the past, specifically an old acquaintance from my university days." Alexander was mystified by the comment. The name suggested an Indian, perhaps a Sikh. But India was a part, however unhappily, of the Chinese Federation.

"I know, Sir Alexander." Lloyd seemed to have noticed his reaction. "It was before your time. Be careful of anything she's ever built."

"Thank you, your Lordship." He paused a moment, gathering the courage to ask his second question.

"If you will forgive me, your lordship, who is the Grey Bear?"

"The Grey Bear?" Lloyd narrowed his eyes, giving him the look of a Kitsune, a mischievous fox spirit feared by the more superstitious natives. "Now why would you ask me that?"  
"Because he has a loose tongue!" Alexander looked up, and felt his heart clench in fear. Standing at the other end of the corridor, only a few metres away, was Major Graham Aker. He did not look pleased.

"I'll leave this one to you, Major Aker," Lloyd stepped past him, a smile on his face. "Another time, Sir Alexander." He strolled off, leaving Alexander to the scolding the young knight knew was coming.

"Does it amuse you to talk about my men behind my back, Captain Waldstein?"

"Please forgive me, Major Aker." Alexander snapped to attention and bowed. He had to force his voice to remain clear and level, such was his nervousness.

"Apologise to your father," Graham replied tersely. "I would have thought he taught you better than to gossip about your fellow officers."

"I was not gossiping, sir!" Alexander snapped back, offended. "I only wished to know!"

"Know!" Graham snarled. "For what purpose? So you can talk behind Sir Andrei's back and ruin his career?"  
"I had no such intention sir!" Alexander was increasingly of a mind to call him out. "I was…" He stopped himself, choosing his words. "I wanted to know, sir!" For a long time, Graham stared grimly into his eyes. Alexander stared back, knowing he was being weighed and measured. He wondered how much of this was down to the disappearance of Villetta Nu, with whom he was known to have been involved.

"Very well." Graham maintained his gaze. "The Grey Bear is Sir Andrei's father, a Russian soldier by the name of Sergei Smirnov."

"Sir," Alexander was incredulous. "If his father is Russian, how came he to Britannian service?"

"Through his mother, who was Britannian." Graham pointedly turned away, examining the painting closest to the doorway. Alexander stood with his head lowered, trying to make sense of what he had just heard.

"Major Aker…may I ask what happened?"

"Why not ask him yourself?" Graham did not turn around.

"If I asked him directly," Alexander replied, "he would believe I had some ulterior motive." Graham did not reply. The corridor was silent.

"I guess it just goes to show," he said eventually. "You nobles have values completely different from mine."

"They are the values my father taught me. Whether or not you share them is immaterial." Graham half-turned his head, regarding the young knight with one eye.

"I may not be a noble," he said, with a slight smile. "But I know you're sincere." He looked back up at the portrait.

"I'm not surprised you haven't heard of the Grey Bear. They're keeping him hush-hush, because they don't want to admit to his existence, let alone what he's done."

"Who doesn't?"

"Military Intelligence. He's a devicer, a damned good one, whose son inherited his prowess. Intel doesn't want to admit that the EU has knightmares, let alone decent devicers."

"Then he is a member of EUROFORCE?"

"He's the leader of one of their independent knightmare squadrons, the ones they use for the really hard and really dirty missions. They're called the Grey Bears, after him." Graham glanced at him again. "I take it you've heard of them?"

"Only rumours." And they were not pleasant rumours. "What sort of man is he?"

"A man who'd have risen far higher than me if he served Britannia." Graham's tone was grim, but Alexander sensed admiration in it. "From what we know he started out as a Spetsnaz commando, in that nasty little spat back in ninety-four. He was one of those who turned against the Soviet government to end the war. He betrayed his leaders, his ideals, and everything he ever believed in, to save his country."

"But what of his wife?" Alexander asked. "Why would she, a Britannian, marry such a man?"

"A fair question, to which I don't have an answer." His tone was rueful, almost bitter. "As Earl Asplund said, it was before your time. Before the Emblem of Blood."

"Then she was an exile?"

"You're too young to remember." There was something dark in his tone, in his countenance, as if he were remembering some bitter sorrow. "Times were bad back then, before his Majesty took the throne. The nobles were wrecking the empire." He paused, and turned to face Alexander.

"There were too many nobles, most of them mediocre. Back then the laws on what nobles could do were much tighter than they are now. The nobles squabbled for posts and positions, while penniless knights killed for the price of a meal. The middle classes were ignored, and the lower classes were exploited. They began to fight back, and the Empire nearly fell apart. Sir Andrei's mother wasn't the only one to seek a new life beyond our shores."

"I had no idea," Alexander breathed, horrified. The idea that Britannian nobles and knights, people like himself, could fall so far from grace was disturbing to him.

"That's no surprise," Graham went on. "I've seen grown men shed tears of shame at the mention of those times." His eyes were cold and hard. "What his Majesty did was harsh, but if he had not done it, then there would likely be no Britannia today. If he had not changed the system, I could never have become an officer, let alone a Major. His Emblem of Blood was the banner of my future." Alexander did not reply.

"And so what do you say to that?" His face split into a sneer. "Do you think me a jumped-up commoner who insults his betters?"

"I would not presume…"

"I'm _ordering_ you to presume, Captain Waldstein!" Graham snapped. "Tell me how you fit into this world. Tell me what you're really thinking." Alexander was unsettled. He had thought of Graham Aker as a friend, a comrade in arms. This was a side of him he had never seen before, and had never even guessed might exist.

"Major Aker," he said, with all the dignity he could muster. "I was born to great privilege." The lie slipped easily from his lips. "It is true that my rank gave me opportunities not available to others." He paused, readying himself to reveal the ultimate truth.

"But were it not for my father, for the love he showed me, for the training he gave me, and the lessons he taught me, it would have counted for nothing." He looked Graham straight in his hard, bitter eyes. "All that I am, I owe to him."

For a long time Graham did not reply. Then he smiled, an old and familiar smile Alexander remembered well.

"Then that's something we have in common," he said. "Some day, you should ask your father about his part in the Emblem of Blood."

"Yes sir." Alexander felt relieved.

"Sir Andrei hates his father," Graham went on, "because he blames him for his mother's death. It's not the best reason to become a soldier, but all the same I chose to give him a chance, in gratitude for the chance I was given. Are you willing to do the same?"

"If you trust Sir Andrei, Major Aker," Alexander replied, "then so shall I."

* * *

_**Tokyo Settlement**_**, **_**September 2017 ATB**_

"Suzaku Kururugi. He has become a focal point for those Japanese who obey Britannia."

The meeting was taking place inside the MCV, which was hiding under a road overpass just outside the settlement. The leaders sat in a semicircle, with Zero in the centre. To his right were Ougi Kaname, Kyoshiroh Tohdoh, and Rakshata Chaula. To his left sat Hamid and Diethard Reid, who was currently speaking.

"I recommend he be assassinated."

"Assassinate him?" Zero queried.

"He may be right," Rakshata commented mildly, lowering her trademark pipe. "You've been the focus of the resistance movement. The servile masses don't have anyone like that."

"People aren't moved by ideology alone," Diethard went on. "But the Britannians will hold him up as a symbol. They'll use him to convince the moderates that obedience brings the possibility of reward. Taking him out would convince them otherwise."  
"I object," Tohdoh interjected, opening his narrow eyes. "The Japanese would be revolted by such a cowardly act."

"That's right!" Ougi added, outrage on his face. "The Black Knights aren't in the business of murdering the helpless!" Diethard's expression shifted, in what might have been irritation.

"What should we do!" Ougi demanded. "Get him when he's alone and kill him straight out?"

"Calm down," Diethard replied, his tone unchanged. "I'm only suggesting we minimize our risk in the most efficient way possible. But it's Zero's call, of course."

"What about you, Hamid?" Ougi turned towards the newcomer, who had not spoken since the meeting began. "What's your take on this?" Hamid regarded him through narrow eyes, smiling in a nonchalant sort of way, as if none of what was being discussed had any meaning for him. Though all eyes were upon him, he was entirely self-assured.

"Well," he said eventually, "I reckon it goes either way. You see, Diethard's right that the Britannians are gonna use him, like they use everything else that comes their way. But on the other hand, there's a big risk in killing him."

"Of course," Raksharta commented, eyeing him coyly. "You'd know all about that."

"There's one or two assassins in the world who could make it look like an accident," Hamid went on. "But unlike them, I don't have a degree or six in Forensic Medicine, and hits like that are a nightmare to set up. The best I can do for you is make it look like someone else did it. Do you have anyone in particular in mind?" All looked to Zero, waiting for an answer. For several minutes none came. None of them could have known of the thoughts and feelings warring under that mask. None of them could know Zero's heart.

"There will be no assassination," he said. "It would give the wrong impression, both to our existing supporters and to those we have yet to convince. Besides, I believe he can be brought over to our side in the fullness of time."

The meeting broke up, and Hamid stepped out of the MCV. He wandered a short distance away, then stood still, taking in the view. One the one side was the settlement, gleaming towers reaching for the sky, intertwined with elegant skyways and monorails. One the other was the ghetto, shattered buildings leaning drunkenly over expanses of rubble, desolate and decaying.

Pretty much what he had expected.

"You didn't give a clear answer." Hamid did not turn around, even as Raksharta strolled up behind him. He could tell from the sound of her footsteps her precise position, and if he so chose he could turn on her and snap her neck before anyone could possibly intervene.

But he had no intention of doing so. At least not yet.

"There was no clear answer," he replied casually. He half-turned to glance at her, showing her his demonic smile. "It comes down to making a decision, for better or worse. He'll just have to live with the consequences."

"I know what you mean," Rakshata replied, sucking on her pipe as she regarded him with what he reckoned was amused curiosity. "And I'm not surprised that you said it."

"You aren't?"

"You're pretty well-known in the underground." Raksharta's smile widened. "Or at least, Ali al-Saachez is."

"I've been a lot of people in my time," Hamid countered, smiling back. He was finding the exchange quite amusing. "But Ali al-Saachez is the one everyone remembers."

"Satan's Sultan?"

"Britannia's words, not mine."

"Fair enough. But what brings you to this country?" Raksharta put her head on one side. "What's in it for Satan's Sultan? Do you just enjoy making life difficult for Britannia?" Hamid chuckled.

"Funnily enough, you're not the first person to ask me that question. But the answer's the same regardless. I'm here, in this particular place and time, because the EU pays me to be here. Does that offend you, Rakshata Chaula?"

"Why would it?" Rakshata giggled. "I'm not here for high-minded ideals like freedom, justice, and brotherhood either. I'm here for Mother India," her eyes were momentarily serious, "and because the underground thinks it will be worthwhile."  
"Really? And what does the underground get out of this?"

"What do _you_ think?"

Hamid had a pretty clear idea. He knew about the arrangement between the Indian underground, with which Rakshata had become involved, and the Six Houses of Kyoto. He knew about the sakuradite smuggling, and how a certain amount found its way into the underground's hands in return for certain…_services. _

"I'm only saying it would have to be quite something," he went on. "After all, they gave them a submarine."

"We're not giving _Shuura_ to them," Rakshata corrected. "We're letting them borrowher for a while. Even _we_ can't lose a submarine without someone asking uncomfortable questions."

"I suppose not."

"So then, you're only here for the money?" Rakshata pressed, lightly enough not to seem particularly interested. "You don't enjoy your work?"

"Oh I enjoy it." A delicious conceit came upon him. "I _particularly_ enjoy taking groups like this one for all that they've got, then leaving them to take the rap from whomsoever I pissed off." He eyed her, noting her lack of reaction. "What do you say to that?"

"What is there to say?" Rakshata replied mildly. "You're as bloodthirsty as they say, but you needn't worry about me telling the others. I won't."

"And why not?"

"Because it's no concern of mine how you feel about this lot." She eyed him in return, and Hamid realised to his mild surprise that she was telling the truth. "I'll admit I kind of like them, but if my superiors tell me to bug out and leave them to die, that's what I'll do."

"For India?"

"For India, and because I'm not ready to die just yet. Also, there's nothing in it for me. The only person worth telling would be Zero, and he knows already."

"He does?" Hamid cocked an eyebrow, interested.

"He's not as stupid as his wardrobe choice suggests. He saw right through you, but it's not a problem for him. He probably thinks he can use you."

"That makes him either very foolish, or very clever. And that gives me a good reason to stay."

"Really?"

"Oh yes." Hamid's smile widened. "It'll be fun finding out which it is."

* * *

_**Britannian HQ, Tokyo Settlement, **__**September 2017 ATB**_

"You haven't said a word about it yet."

Seated at the desk in the Vicereine's office, Euphemia willed herself to stay calm. She had known there would be trouble when news of her choice reached her sister. She had thus decided to contact Cornelia directly, knowing how she would react.

"Choosing a knight is a privilege of royalty," Cornelia's digital image replied, barely concealing her disdain. "It's none of my business."

"Don't you see?" Euphemia pleaded. "Suzaku Kururugi is an Honorary Britannian and he's proven himself more than worthy of knighthood. Sister even…"  
"It's _Vicereine,_" Cornelia cut her off. Even through the vid terminal, Euphemia could sense her fury.

"Vicereine," she corrected herself. "Even you must know that he's deserving."

"Discrimination against the Numbers is our national policy," her older sister replied coldly.

"Then it's time I tried to change that." Euphemia knew from the look on Cornelia's face that she had made a mistake. But she was not inclined to take it back.

"Oh is it now,_ Sub-viceroy_?" Cornelia taunted, her words dripping with sarcasm. "Well when you become Empress, feel free to do so! I just hope you understand the trouble you've caused me."

"No," Euphemia retorted primly. "I do not."

"Your man Kururugi is now a Major!" Cornelia snarled. "Which means he outranks most of my guardsmen, including Captain Waldstein. That will almost certainly cause rancour, which _I_ will have to sort out on my return."

"Then just promote Alexander too," Euphemia suggested. "He fought so bravely in the prison battle."

"If he fought so bravely," Cornelia snapped, "why didn't you choose _him_!" Her vehemence caught Euphemia off-guard.

"I…I couldn't!" she protested. "What would people say!"

"Royalty do not fear gossip!" Cornliea went on in the same tone. "Nor do they make pathetic excuses!"

"Vicereine, I just couldn't take Alexander away from you. I know you'd be sad if I did."

"That…!" Cornelia's words caught in her throat. Even via a screen, Euphemia could see the conflict in her eyes. "That's none of your concern!"

"Then perhaps you'll tell me why you ordered Sir Suzaku to execute the terrorist Kyoshiroh Tohdoh." Euphemia's voice was low and level, her face rigid. Cornelia did not answer, but looked away, apparently embarrassed.

"Why, Vicereine?"

"Suzaku Kururugi was entrusted with the _Lancelot_," Cornelia managed to reply. "I thought it appropriate to make entirely certain of his loyalty."

"Very well. Please do not do so again. Sir Suzaku is my knight and I would prefer if you respect our laws in that regard."

"Euphie…"

"Excuse me." Euphemia ended the message, then slumped in her chair with a sigh.

"_Why?_" she thought sadly. "_Why sister? Why can't you accept it? Everyone else can see how you feel. Why can't you?_"

She pressed the intercom, ordering Suzaku to be sent in. Her knight did so, still clad in his formal uniform. His face was unreadable.

"Suzaku." Euphemia stood up and strode around the desk to face him. "I'm…I'm so sorry, about today."

"Please don't worry about it, your highness." Suzaku managed to smile as he bowed. "It's not of any consequence."

"But…" The buzzing of the intercom cut her off.

"Captain the Lord Waldstein to see you, your Highness."

"Oh..." Euphemia was mildly surprised. "Send him in."

"Yes your Highness." A moment later the door opened, and Sir Alexander Waldstein strode in. He bowed to Euphemia.

"Your Imperial Highness," he said, with all the gravity and decorum he could muster. "I have come to apologise for my conduct this morning." He bowed again.

"Your conduct?" Euphemia was mystified. "Whatever do you mean?" Alexander's cheeks reddened slightly, despite his best efforts.

"I did not applaud Sir Suzaku until his Lordship Earl Asplund had done so, your Highness." He sounded embarrassed, and looked it too. "I insulted you by doing so."

Suzaku felt his cheeks flush. He did not know Alexander Waldstein well, but he never would have expected a Britannian aristocrat, the son of the Knight of One no less, to behave with humility over _him_. It was…well, it was…

"Oh Alexander!" Euphemia burst out laughing, and Alexander's face became the colour of his coat. "You don't need to say things like that!" Both young knights blushed. Princesses were _not_ supposed to laugh like that.

"But, your highness…"

"Alexander don't be silly!" Euphemia managed to control herself. "As if I'd hold that against you." She glanced at Suzaku, who was standing there looking embarrassed.

"Oh, but you two haven't been properly introduced, have you." Euphemia stood between them, clearing her throat and adopting a more dignified air.

"Sir Alexander, I present Sir Suzaku Kururugi. Sir Suzaku, Sir Alexander Bismarck Waldstein, Viscount San Clemente."

"I'm honoured to meet you, your lordship," Suzaku said politely.

"The honour is mine, Sir Suzaku," Alexander replied, shaking Suzaku's hand. The atmosphere warmed noticeably. Suzaku was more than a little relieved, for the older knight had evidently forgotten the manner of their first meeting, or else had forgiven him enough not to mention it.

"There!" Euphemia beamed with delight. "I was sure you two would get on well. As it happens, you share mutual friends." Her good humour was suddenly tinged with sadness, and Alexander wondered what she meant.

"Before the war, Prince Lelouch and Princess Nunnally were guests of my father," Suzaku explained gravely. "They spoke very highly of you, your lordship." Suzaku felt awkward saying so, even if it was the truth. Lelouch had told him about Alexander Waldstein, about how as a child he had defended them from the bullying of an Imperial consort, and how close he had been to Princess Cornelia. Suzaku could not describe in words the feeling he was having on meeting the older youth, the one who had been Lelouch's friend before him.

Or at least, the nearest thing Lelouch had ever had to a friend. He remembered Lelouch complaining about Alexander's inflated sense of propriety and place, and how he would never loosen up, or drop the stiff decorum that Lelouch had come to hate so much. Nunnally had been more forgiving, putting it down to Alexander's upbringing and admonishing her brother for being so judgemental. From what he had heard of Bismarck Waldstein's personality, Suzaku could believe her.

"I see," Alexander replied uncertainly. "As I recall, Prince Lelouch mentioned you in a letter to her highness. He spoke highly of you too."

"I am grateful that you say so, your lordship."

"Do you…have any idea where their highnesses are?" There was silence. Suzaku felt a lump in his throat, and ice in his stomach. The look in Alexander's eyes made him want to tell the truth, though he knew he could not. He dared not reveal the truth of what had happened seven years ago.

"I'm sorry, your lordship." He bowed. "I know not what became of them."

"I see. My thanks all the same."

"I am truly sorry, your lordship." And he meant it.

"It's all right," Alexander reassured him. "It was a long time ago." Through his sadness, Suzaku felt more than a little relieved, for he seemed about ready to drop the matter.

"Well," Euphemia interjected, hoping to change the mood. "You have a party to go to, don't you Sir Suzaku? At Ashford Academy?"

"Your highness!" Suzaku was mortified. "I would never dream of leaving your side without your leave!"

"Suzaku, don't make me order you to go," Euphemia insisted. "Your friends want to celebrate with you. I don't need you at my side _all_ the time, and I'll send for you if something important comes up."

"Your highness…" Suzaku clammed up, bewildered and embarrassed.

"But there's a way around it!" Euphemia proclaimed cheerfully. "How about Alexander and I come with you!"

"Your highness!" Suzaku was taken aback.

"No your highness!" Alexander protested, eyes bulging in panic. "You must not go there! It's a den of iniquity!"

Euphemia held her expression for a few seconds, then started laughing again. But that time she contained herself, giggling behind her hand in the proper fashion.

"Oh Alexander you're so cute!" she cooed. "I wouldn't dream of imposing on everyone at the academy, not at such short notice. Besides, we wouldn't want your dignity being called into question, now would we?"

Alexander lowered his head, his face crimson. He had still not quite lived down that humiliating incident. He didn't think about it all that much, but from time to time that face still assailed his mind's eye.

That boy…who looked so much like Lelouch.

* * *

_**Black Knights HQ**__**, Tokyo Settlement, **__**September 2017 ATB**_

"CROSSROAD!"

Saji Tsuji knew that he was in trouble. Someone yelling his nickname at that volume and with that much venom was a fairly reliable indicator. That, and the hand grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and swinging him around. That he was alone in the main warehouse did not help matters.

"Ah, Tamaki-san," he greeted his assailant, meeting the angry face of Shinichiro Tamaki with a nervous smile. "Is something wrong?"

"I've got a bone to pick with you, _Crossroad_," Tamaki growled. "You've been snooping around our knightmares, _Crossroad._ Whaddya say to that?"  
"Well, actually, that was only Colonel Tohdoh's knightmare, because he…"

"You an EU spy, Crossroad?" Tamaki interrupted, evidently in no mood for a satisfactory explanation.

"No." Saji did his best to be reasonable and polite. "I'm…"

"You're a friggin' traitor, that's what you are!" There was anger and resentment in Tamaki's eyes, and in those of Tetsu Yoshida standing behind him. "Sitting around sipping wine with your gaijin buddies while we were out here, starving and fighting and dying!" Yoshida growled their agreement. Saji felt sick to his stomach.

It had been like that ever since he had arrived. For the most part the others had gone down quite well. Colonel Kujo was the most popular with the male Black Knights, while Neil and Jacque were rivals for most popular with the female Black Knights, though their charms were very different.

"Please listen to me," he managed to say. "I…"

"And now you're here, sniffing around our knightmares. That makes you an EU spy, and there's something we like to do to EU spies."

"Please," Saji pleaded in his native tongue. "I'm not your enemy."

"That's what you say, _traitor._"

"Pardon me, monsieurs," a young boy's voice interjected. Tamaki and his cronies glanced down in surprise, seeing it to be Jacque Sant-Clare. His young face was hard. "If you please, put down Technician Tsuji."

"Like hell I will!" Tamaki snapped. "The girls might think you're cute, but it won't cut any ice with us!"

"Pardon, monsieurs," Jacque did not flinch. "I must ask you to leave him alone. He is my friend." Saji felt ashamed.

"Your _friend _huh!" Tamaki sneered. "Well kid, you've got lousy taste in friends!"

"If you please, monsieur." Jacque frowned. "Put him down." Tamaki's sneer twisted into a frown. He threw Saji at the wall, the youth hitting it with a thump, then rounded on the boy.

"What the hell are you doing here anyway?" he snarled. "Who are you supposed to be? Joseph Bara?"

"I am a volunteer, monsieur," Jacque replied, somewhat testily. "My abilities were judged useful, and I serve."

"I don't care if you _are _some kind of genius programmer!" Tamaki sneered. He shoved Jacque, causing him to fall down. "You're nothing but a…!"  
"_Cabrón_!" Something caught Tamaki in the right shin. He yelled at the pain, and started hopping on his left leg.

"You little bitch!" he snapped, as he registered an enraged Louise Halevy.

"_Hijo de puta_!" the girl spat. "How dare you bully my Saji! And Jacque too!"

"You wanna shut your mouth, foreign whore!" roared Yoshida, stepping up to loom over her. "This isn't your business!"

"And you wanna learn some manners!" added Patrick Colasour, appearing from the same direction. He advanced on them with squared shoulders and fists clenched. "Just so you know, we stick up for our own in EUROFORCE!"

"And we don't like traitors or foreigners here in Japan!" retorted Tamaki, who had ceased hopping. "Especially when they come here to steal our technology!"

"That's a dirty lie!" Patrick snapped back, belligerent. "Beside, your tech's not _that _good!"

"Say that again!" Tamaki shoved Patrick. He shoved back. Yoshida grabbed at Louise, who snarled and kicked him in the shin. Yoshida yelled in pain, and threw Louise to the ground. She landed with a shriek, and Yoshida advanced on her, face twisted in rage.

"Leave her alone!" Saji bellowed, charging at the man and grabbing his arm. Yoshida threw him off with a snarl of disgust, but it had given Louise enough time to get to her feet. Teeth gritted, she readied herself to fight.

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" A female voice cut through their fury. Kallen came running up to them, accompanied by a worried-looking Ougi, an angry-looking Kaguya, and an exasperated-looking Neil Dylandy. Ougi stepped in front of Tamaki and Yoshida, while Neil grabbed Patrick and hauled him back.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Kallen roared. "We're supposed to be on the same side!"

"Come on you guys," Ougi pleaded, stepping in front of Tamaki. "This isn't helping."

"Those guys are trying to steal our tech!" Tamaki protested, pointing an accusing finger at Saji, who was being helped to his feet by an angry-looking Louise. Kaguya was squatting beside Jacque, who was looking rather pale. "That traitor's helping them!"

"He's not a traitor!" Louise shrieked, cuddling Saji to her. "He's your countryman! Doesn't that mean anything to you!"

"He's no countryman of mine!" Tamaki spat. "Where was he for all these years! In your bed!"

"Why you…!"

"ENOUGH!" Kallen bellowed, stepping between them. "SETTLE…DOWN!" She locked eyes with Louise, who glared at her with undisguised loathing. Kaguya shot Tamaki a dirty look before leading a bewildered Jacque away.

"I won't be called a whore by the likes of him!" Louise snarled. "And none of you know anything about Saji!"

"That's not my problem!" Kallen retorted. She was already on edge, but there was something about Louise that set her teeth on edge.

"Louise," Saji pleaded, trying to calm his girlfriend. "It's all right."

"No it isn't!" Louise snapped, then rounded on Kallen. "If this is the way you people treat your allies, then you shouldn't expect any help from the European Ultra-Union!"

"Screw the EU!" yelled Tamaki. "You're always looking down your long noses at us! Acting like we're inferior!"

"Because you're backward!" Louise retorted. "You're nothing but a pack of racist sexist nationalists! We don't like people like you in the EU!"

"Why don't you shut up!" Kallen snapped, enraged. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"I know what you're like! I saw it just now!"

"Louise!" Saji pleaded again, this time more forcefully.

"I'm not going to take that from a spoilt little rich girl like you!" Kallen shrieked, shoving Lousie. "You're just a…!"  
"What's the meaning of this!" The warehouse went dead quiet. They all knew that voice.

"Uh…Zero!" Kallen spluttered, snapping to attention and saluting, her face turning the colour of her hair.

"Lieutenant Colasour!" snapped Colonel Kati Mannequin, who was standing next to Zero. "You will tell me what just happened here!"

"Nothing at all, Colonel ma'am!" Patrick barked, snapping to attention. "Just a difference of opinion! Nobody meant anything by it! Colonel ma'am!"

"Really…" Kati's tone implied she had heard more convincing explanations from a drink-driver in the traction ward. "Is that the case, Paladin Halevy?"

"No Colonel!" Louise snapped. "They were picking on Saji and Jacque!"

"Hey!" Patrick rounded on Louise, shocked by her breach of unwritten military etiquette.

"Tamaki!" Zero barked. "Is this true?"

"He's a spy!" Tamaki yelled back. "He was sniffing around Tohdoh's knightmare!"

"What he was doing was repairing it, as Colonel Tohdoh ordered," Zero replied levelly. "An order I personally approved." Tamaki sagged like a deflating balloon.

"I apologise for the behaviour of my subordinates, Zero," Kati said, her tone stiff.

"I'm the one who should apologise, Colonel Mannequin," Zero replied harshly. "The gods have cursed me with embarrassing and ungrateful subordinates." An air of shame filled the warehouse.

"You three!" he jabbed a finger at Tamaki, "out of my sight! Ougi, sort this mess out! Kallen, in my office, now!" He turned on his heel and swept away, a mortified Kallen trudging after him. Tamaki slunk off, looking as if he wished he could sink into the ground and disappear.

"Are you all right, Technician Tsuji?" Kati asked, in her hard-nosed manner. Saji managed to stand to attention.

"I'm all right, thank you Colonel ma'am."

"Please forgive them, Tsuji-san," Ougi said, bowing low. "They do not represent the attitudes of the Black Knights. We are most embarrassed."

"It's all right," Saji replied wearily. "I expected no better, and they are right."

"Don't say that!" Louise shrieked. "You're worth a hundred, a thousand, a _million _of those scumbags!" She rounded on Ougi, who flinched. "And as for you, you can…!"  
"That's enough out of you, Paladin Halevy!" Kati's barked command finally brought Louise to heel. "Your family may be major EUROFORCE financiers, but that doesn't absolve you of our organization's expectations!"

"Yes Colonel ma'am!" Louise barked, snapping to attention and saluting. "Sorry Colonel ma'am!"

"What are you, Louise Halevy!"

"I am EUROFORCE Paladin!" Louise snapped back, reciting from the EUROFORCE code. "I am a soldier for Europe!"

"What are we, Paladin Halevy!"

"We are EUROFORCE! We are the elite! We are Europe's sword and shield!"

"Yes we are," Kati proclaimed. "And don't any of you forget it!"

* * *

Jacque didn't know what to think or feel.

It wasn't the incident a few moments ago. That had been unpleasant, but the fear he had felt when the adrenalin had subsided was gone.

Rather, it was the girl sitting next to him, holding his hand, who was confusing him so.

Jacque had never had much time for girls. Not that he'd known that many, besides his sister Collette and her silly friends, most of them child-actresses like herself. He was happiest sitting at a computer, fingers flying over the keyboard, the visions in his mind taking shape on the screen. He didn't want fame, or even attention. He didn't want to perform, no matter how hard his mother had tried to persuade him.

Back when she was still around.

It wasn't that he _disliked_ girls, at least not _all_ girls. Intellectually he could accept that some of them might be tolerable human beings, if they had very little in common with his sister and her friends. It wasn't that he _hated_ his sister either. She was difficult to handle at times, but they were simply different people, who wanted different things from life. It didn't matter if they had practically nothing in common. It didn't matter if his mother had been disappointed in him for not joining her and Collette in the industry. It didn't matter if his father had no time for him. He had found his place in the world. He had found something useful he could be doing. He had found his path.

And there was no room for girls on it.

At least, not until he had come to Japan, and something had changed.

Kaguya Sumeragi was _beautiful_. There was really nothing else he could say, no other word he could use. She seemed to shine the way his sister did, but where Collette had to make an effort, Kaguya did it effortlessly. She didn't have to pretend, to act. She was just…herself.

"I am much better," Jacque managed to reply, realising he had been staring at her. "Thank you, Lady Kaguya."

"Oh Jacque-chan!" Kaguya giggled behind her free hand. "You're so cute!" Jacque felt his face heat up, his cheeks turning red. Kaguya saw his discomfiture, and giggled even harder.

"I didn't mean to make trouble for you," he said, trying to regain the initiative.

"It's no trouble," Kaguya reassured him, patting his hand. "Besides, your sister would never forgive me if anything happened to you."

That in itself had been a surprise. He had expected his sister's penpal to be no different from her silly friends. Instead of which…

"I don't think I was in any danger, Lady Kaguya. I'm accustomed to not being taken seriously."

That was true enough. It was difficult at the best of times for professional soldiers to take a twelve-year-old seriously, even if he was some kind of genius. That was until they actually saw him work, after which they either patronized or ignored him.

He could expect no better. He was in EUROFORCE on sufferance, his presence an affront to their pride as soldiers. He had no _right_ to be in EUROFORCE, only a privilege. The privilege of genius.

"That won't do." Kaguya pouted, putting on an act of theatrical annoyance. "After all," she opened one eye and smiled at him, "you're the boy who makes knightmares dance, aren't you?"

"That's what they call me." Jacque looked at the floor, smiling as he blushed. He didn't understand why her presence made him feel so warm inside, but he wasn't complaining either. Kaguya stepped around him, and took his hands in her own. He looked up in surprise, staring straight into her bright green eyes.

"Can you make my husband's knightmares dance?" she asked. "Will you do that for me?"

"Yes!" Jacque almost shouted, overcome by _something_ inside him. "I will, Lady Kaguya!"

"You will! I'm so glad!" Before he could react, Kaguya darted forward and kissed him on the forehead.

"If you do, I'll let you dance with me, Jacque-chan!"

* * *

Kallen had never felt so ashamed in all her life.

There she was, standing before Zero's desk like a naughty schoolgirl, about to be admonished by her teacher. She was dreading what he would say.

"Would you mind telling me," he began, "what that was all about, Kallen?"

"It was…" Kallen paused, choosing her words. "It was about that guy, Saji Tsuji. Tamaki and some of the others…they took a dislike to him."

"And they saw fit to jeopardize our chances of an alliance with the EU because of it?" She could almost feel his gaze, even though she could not see his eyes. "You do realise, Kallen, how important this is? You do realise what will happen if Task Force Bolivar gives us a bad report, don't you?"

"I know!" Kallen almost snapped. "But even so, what Tamaki said…isn't completely wrong."

"Oh _isn't_ it?" Zero drawled. "Care to explain?"

"Should we really trust them with our knightmares? Our technology?" Kallen asked, half-demanding, half-pleading. "Should we really be trusting them that far?"

"It may surprise you to know, Kallen," Zero replied mildly, "that I did in fact consider that problem." Kallen was embarrassed. She should have known, should have _trusted_, that he would have done.

"Of course they're going to find out all they can," he said casually. "If that was a problem, I wouldn't have let them in here with us. But with the data they acquire from us, they'll be able to develop their knightmare technology much faster. That will make them stronger, and a more useful ally. And besides," his tone shifted, and Kallen imagined him smirking under his mask. "They don't have access to _all_ of our technology."

"Even so," Kallen pressed, unsatisfied. "I know the way they're treating Saji is unfair, but the kid's actually more of a problem than he is. And about that!" She was suddenly indignant. "What're they doing sending a twelve-year-old kid on a mission like this anyway!"

"He appears to be a genius knightmare programmer. That is, incidentally, one of the reasons why I let him work on our knightmares."

"But…it's just weird!" Kallen snorted. "Between him and that girl Louise!"

"You don't like her?" Zero sounded amused.

"She's a spoiled little rich…_blonde_ whose parents got her in the military!" Kallen complained. "I heard her family give tons of money to EUROFORCE. Those Europeans are just so…_arrogant_!"

The words hung in the air, and Kallen wondered if she had gone too far.

"It's true that some Europeans are arrogant," Zero said eventually. "After centuries of violence, they've achieved a lasting peace on their continent. The only ones to besmirch it were the Soviets, and their reward was defeat, disgrace, and dissolution. It was necessary to build their peace on tolerance and acceptance, bringing their many peoples together on the basis of mutual advantage. That peace has brought them prosperity, and allowed them to advance their knowledge and understanding. When they look upon other countries, they see the mistakes and failings they themselves committed not so long ago. Their achievements have made them arrogant, and their history has made them fearful. What they fear, more than anything else, is that all they have done, all they have achieved, will turn out to be nothing more than a fantasy, that someone will drag them back into the real world they thought they left behind."

"Yes, but even so," Kallen protested, "does that give them the right to ignore what's going on? Don't they have a responsibility? Aren't we their fellow human beings?"

"You could argue that," Zero went on. "But you'd only make them angry. Britannia fears and hates them, the Chinese Federation is suspicious of them, and the rest of the world envies and resents them. Mostly though, the rest of the world doesn't understand them."

"Come again?"

"The world they've created for themselves, their new reality, is alien and incomprehensible to many people in this world. To many Japanese Europe is a dark and degraded place, without pride or principles. A place where borders count for little, where cultures mix and mingle freely, and where people love, marry, and breed without any concern for racial purity. Those Japanese cannot understand or respect such people, and Europeans cannot understand or respect people who have a problem with it. In fact, they feel even worse about those Japanese, because their attitudes remind them of themselves not so long ago."

"But, not _all _Japanese are like that!" Kallen protested. "Sure there were some weirdoes but we weren't all like that! We had our own dreams! We wanted to make a better future! We wanted…!" She trailed off, her mind assailed by memories of those times. Before Britannia had destroyed her country, and her family. Before her name, her identity, had been taken from her.

Before she was Kallen Stadtfeld.

"I know, Kallen," Zero said, his tone very gentle, so much so that it drew her thoughts from the darkness. "The Japanese deserved better that what happened to them, and a great many Europeans feel the same way, or else they wouldn't have come here. That's why this is so important. That's why I want us to be able to cooperate with them. Neither Japan nor the EU can solve the world's problems on their own, so we have to work together. If the world is to change, it must rise up as one, and cast down Britannia once and for all."

Kallen was silent, taking in his words. She remembered what had drawn her to him, what had made her want to give him a chance, to trust in the possibility of a miracle. Maybe, just maybe, she could help create an even bigger miracle, a miracle for all humanity.

The miracle of a gentle world. A gentle world where she could live happily with her mother, and with Milly, and Rivalz, and Shirley, and Suzaku…

…and Lelouch.

"I understand," she said gravely. "You know I do."

"I know," Zero said. And in that moment she felt a kinship with him, a bond unlike any she'd ever had with anyone else, except perhaps her brother Naoto. She found herself wondering, not for the first time, what he looked like under that mask.

"Kallen, I was angry with you before because I trust you."

"Huh!" Kallen's head snapped up, her cheeks turning red. "Uh, I mean…"

"_What's wrong with me! I can't be acting like this! Like a lovesick schoolgirl!"_

"Kallen? Are you all right?"

"Uh, yeah!" Kallen flapped her hand frantically. "I'm fine! Really!"

"In which case, you should get ready to transfer to the _Shuura_. Our next mission is at Shikinejima."

"Is Bolivar coming with us?"

"No. I'm sending them to the interior. The Skirted Devils need some help with their knightmare training."

"Them?" Kallen looked dubious. "Are they really the kind of allies we need?"

"If nothing else," Zero replied, standing up. "They'll scare the Britannians witless."

* * *

_**Kaminejima**__**,**__**September 2017 ATB, one week later. **_

It was a beautiful day, on a beautiful island.

So thought Schneizel el Britannia, 2nd Prince of the House of Britannia, Chancellor of the Empire, as he stepped down the _Avalon_'s passenger egress ramp. As venues went, Kamine island was a pleasant one indeed.

The Prince would be considered handsome by almost any standard. He had inherited his father's great height and broad shoulders, though his face was not so rugged, rather possessing a sculpted elegance inherited from his mother. This effect was crowned with his father's blond hair and purple eyes.

"Ah, Livonze." Before him was a young man, with mint-green hair and a narrow, oblong face, clad in the green and white uniform of his personal staff. It was his eyes that set him apart, and would have let Schneizel identify him even if all his other features were different.

"You of course remember Earl Asplund, and General Bartley." He gestured to his companions, the tall and thin Lloyd Asplund, and the bald, portly General Asprius Bartley.

"Your Lordship, General Sir, welcome." Livonze Almark bowed to each in turn, then returned his attention to Schneizel. "We are ready for you now, your highness, if you will follow me."

"By all means." Livonze led them around the massive shape of the _Avalon_. It was parked with its stern towards the cave mouth, with cables running from it into the darkness. The entrance had been widened, and several of Schneizel's Foot Guards stood guard around it, clad in their body armour and fatigues, along with two _Sutherland_s of his knightmare guards. One of them snapped to attention and saluted as they passed, the others keeping up their vigil.

"What is this place?" Bartley glanced around in disbelief. The cave was in fact a tunnel, its walls perpendicular, lined with vaguely Hellenic-looking columns that looked as though they were cut from the rock itself.

"Don't ask me," replied Lloyd sourly. "Archaeology was never my strong point, especially not this paranormal stuff."

"Your highness, might I ask what has been happening?" Livonze glanced up at Schneizel, who was considerably taller than him. "In accordance with your orders we have maintained radio silence."

"The Black Knights launched a raid against the air base on Shikine Island," Schneizel replied, his countenance darkening somewhat. "My sister, Princess Euphemia, was waiting for me there."

"I hope her highness was not harmed." Livonze sounded sincere, but Schneizel knew better than to take anything he said at face value. Even he, who had spent his entire life surrounded by liars, conspirators, and flatterers, could not read Livonze Almark.

"Her highness' whereabouts are unknown," Lloyd commented sourly, "as are those of her new knight, Suzaku Kururugi. Though we managed to retrieve the _Lancelot,_ so it wasn't a total loss."

"How dare you say such a thing!" Bartley spluttered, his face flushed with outrage. "An Imperial Princess is missing, and you're worried about your damned prototype! Have you no concern even for your pilot!"

"This is a fine time for you to start worrying about Suzaku," Lloyd sneered. "As I recall, you weren't much help to him at his trial."

"I was in no position to help anyone!" Bartley bellowed. "Those damned Purists took me by force! If it wasn't for his highness, I'd still be chained up deep under Temple Tower!"

"I believe I speak for all of us," Livonze went on, "when I express my hope that her highness will be found alive and well. Her loss would be a tragedy beyond compare."

"Yes," Schneizel replied darkly. "It would." And not only in the personal sense. He would have need of Euphemia's particular talents in the future, assuming he could bring her round to his way of thinking.

It was a strange affair. He was not all that surprised that the Black Knights had launched the attack, as Lloyd's loose tongue had managed to get details of Euphemia's visit leaked onto the Internet. Nor was he particularly surprised that the Black Knights had trounced the garrison. The surprise had the Black Knights managing to disable the _Lancelot_, by virtue of leading it into some sort of trap. Lloyd had called it a _Gefjun_ field, identifying it as the creation of a certain Rakshata Chaula, an old associate of his from his university days. He hadn't sounded at all pleased, and Schneizel had wondered just how deep their obvious rivalry ran.

The other surprise had been Euphemia's reaction. She had refused to return to the destroyer _Catigern,_ upon which she and her party had just arrived, and was last seen heading straight for the battle at the controls of a _Portman_ knightmare. Schneizel had known her all her life, and knew her to be a tad impulsive, but had never seen _that_ coming.

"I can only pray that she is found safe," Bartley added, a look of pain and shame on his broad face. "I cannot bear the thought of another of his Majesty's children being lost while I am near. The shame of it…"

"Now now, General Bartley," Schneizel interjected, combining stern reproach with kindly reassurance. "It is entirely beyond your power."

"As you say, your Highness." The portly general did not sound convinced.

"Your worries will pass, General," Livonze spoke up airily, "when you see what we are about to do."

"Then I assume all is in readiness?" Schneizel brightened noticeably.

"Tieria is preparing the interface now, your highness."  
"Excellent."

At that moment, the quartet entered the main chamber. Schneizel took a moment to scan his eyes around the cave, taking in the rounded columns and sheer, perpendicular walls. Once, he could tell, the walls had been decorated with complex patterns and styles, the meaning of which he could not hope to decipher.

At least, not for the moment.

The real attraction was at the very rear of the chamber. It was a tall oblong frieze, into which was carved a curious pattern similar to those on the walls. The main symbol was an upturned omega, with a series of diagonal pathways branching out from it. Set on the dais in front of the frieze was a small pyramid covered in writing, though it was that of a language Schneizel had never encountered before. A group of his guardsmen were working around the dais, fixing interface electrodes to the frieze and pyramid. Cables ran from the electrodes to a set of electronic work stations, set in a semicircle in the middle of the chamber.

"I fear Clovis may have been better suited for this kind of thing," he commented casually. "Though my father has taken an interest in it, hasn't he Bartley?"

"Indeed, your highness." Bartley sounded nervous, enthused by his surroundings. "A site like this has been found in the homeland, and another in Cuba, Antarctica, southern Africa, and also in the Kingdom of Krugis. Other than this one, which I discovered myself, they have all been placed under his majesty's direct control. I'm only speculating, but I suspect that the purpose of our recent wars has been to acquire these sites."

"And so," Lloyd mused, "you're going to use the _Gawain_'s Druid System to analyse the data, even though it's an incomplete prototype?"

"That's why you're here," Schneizel replied, giving him a smile. "But that's not the only reason."

"Oh you're not going to try _that_ again are you?" Lloyd sounded dubious. "After what happened last time?"  
"What happened last time!" demanded a worried Bartley. "It didn't explode did it!"

"In some respects," Lloyd replied, "an explosion would have been preferable."

"I'm sure nothing quite so…_drastic_ will happen this time," Schneizel reassured them, chuckling. "Livonze is trying something different this time, isn't that right Livonze?"

"Yes, your highness." Livonze gave the scientist and general a very disconcerting smile. "This time we will use a physical connection to the uplink, which we can easily disconnect if Veda starts showing any...signs."

"Signs?" Bartley's fear was replaced by utter mystification. "Your highness, what exactly _is _Veda?"

"Veda is thought, wisdom, completion, perfection." It was a young man, his voice low and clipped, approaching from the shadows. His figure was slim, almost feminine, clad in the same green and white uniform as Livonze. Purple hair hung to his shoulders, framing a narrow, delicate face wearing a look of thin-lipped contempt. Red eyes peered over spectacles, eyeing the Prince and his guests.

"I don't understand," replied Bartley.

"I didn't expect you to," the youth said waspishly. "An overweight, overpromoted ignoramus such as yourself cannot be expected to understand such things."

"Why you…!" Bartley spluttered in incoherent fury, his face turning red.

"Tieria," Livonze admonished. "Remember your manners."

"I don't see why I have to put up with this," the youth snorted contemptuously. "People like him are unworthy to receive Veda's wisdom."

"Oh but you _will_," Livonze purred, smiling too much. "Unless of course, you'd like some more _treatments_." A look of horror and fury flashed across Tieria's face.

"Your highness," he bowed. "Please excuse my behaviour."

"Not at all," Schneizel gave him a particularly charming smile. "Gentlemen, I present Tieria Erde, our specialist in matters relating to Veda."

"You still haven't explained what Veda is," groused Bartley. "And why Earl Asplund is so nervous."

"Don't bother, your Highness." Tieria turned on his heel and stalked over to the work stations. "He wouldn't understand if you personally educated him for ten years."

"Veda is an artificial intelligence," Lloyd interjected, before Bartley could lose his temper again. "Something his highness has been cooking up these past few years."

"An artificial intelligence?" Bartley glanced from Lloyd to the frieze and back again. "What exactly happened the last time that we should be so afraid of?"

"Do you know what a cascade rampancy is?"

"No."

"Then there's not much point in telling you. Needless to say it's not a good thing." At that moment, one of the grey-armoured guardsmen strode up to Schneizel and saluted.

"The electrodes are in place, your highness. We're good to go."

"Very good. Carry on Livonze."

"Make sure they switch off all electronics!" Tieria barked, not looking up from the screens. "We can't afford any interference if we are to have clear readings!"

"Your highness!" Bartley hissed, following Schneizel as he stepped to the side of the chamber. "If we turn off all electronics, your guards won't be able to communicate or even shoot! We'll be defenceless!"

"I have already taken the necessary precautions," Schneizel reassured him, still smiling. "And we are unlikely to be attacked here in any case." Bartley held his tongue, but he did not appear convinced. As the guards moved to the sides of the chamber, the floodlights were turned off, plunging the chamber into darkness, save for a blue glow from the screens surrounding Tieria.

"Uplink online!" the youth barked. "Datalink is buffering!" He stared at the screen in front of him, entranced by its radiance. "Datalink is active!"

"Here goes," commented Lloyd darkly. He glanced back towards the exit, and was mildly reassured to see the guards in place by the cables, ready to disconnect them at a command from Schneizel. If Livonze was to be believed, that minor precaution would ensure that the near-disaster of the previous attempt could not happen again.

"Veda…responds…" breathed Tieria. All at once the frieze began to glow, red light running through the channels like water, illuminating the image in all its alien splendour. The light spread to the pyramid, and then the chamber was as bright as it had been before. All stared, entranced by the seeming impossibility, the unexpected miracle.

"Veda…comprehends…" A strange, almost beatific smile was on Tieria's face. Still he stared, haloed by the blue glow of the screens, enraptured by whatever it was they were showing him. "Veda…understands…"

Livonze recovered first. The youth strode Tieria's side and looked over his shoulder at the screens.

"Tieria, enough," he said, his tone hard. "Disconnect the uplink."

"No!" Tieria whimpered, almost weeping in wonder. "We can't! Not now! Not when Veda is so close!"

"Tieria! Disconnect it!" Livonze barked, fear driving him to anger. "It's happening again!"

"I won't let you!" Tieria rounded on him, eyes bulging in exultant madness. "I won't let you kill Veda again!"

An ear-splitting roar assailed them, like a thousand thunderclaps. Hot air rushed over them, followed by clouds of smoke and dust, as the ceiling of the chamber came crashing down.

"Your highness!" Bartley yelled. "You must escape!"

But the disaster was open as suddenly as it had begun. As the noise faded, those in the chamber realised that they had not been crushed. Only a particular part of the ceiling had caved in, and it had come down as a single piece, coming to rest just in front of the dais.

As the rock dust began to clear, they could make out four figures standing atop the enormous slab, looking rather bewildered.

"Major Kururugi!" Lloyd exclaimed. "And…Zero!"

It was indeed Zero. His trademark mask and cloak were clearly visible, as was the handgun he carried. With him was a young woman wearing what appeared to be a devicer's g-force suit. To the left, opposite them, was Suzaku Kururugi, along with Princess Euphemia.

The guardsmen reacted. With the flick of a switch each man reactivated his rifle's battery, sending power to the electromagnetic coil that gave its deadly power. The rifles jerked up, ready to shoot what could only have been Zero

"Don't shoot you fools!" Bartley bellowed, having recovered enough of his wits to take command. "Princess Euphemia is up there! Capture them!"

The guardsmen broke left, scrambling up a convenient pile of rubble to reach the top of the slab.

"Look Zero!" shouted the young woman. "It's a knightmare!"

"We'll use that!" The two ran for the _Gawain_.

"Stop them!" Bartley yelled, seeing their intent. "Don't let them take the _Gawain_!"

Ordinarily the guardsmen should have been able to gun the pair down easily. But having to scramble up the debris to reach Euphemia had slowed them down. It was not by much, but enough for Zero and his companion to reach the tall knightmare and dive into the cockpit.

"Suzaku!" Euphemia tugged at her knight's arm. "Suzaku?" But Suzaku did not respond. He stood stock-still, staring into nowhere, a look of soul-bending terror distorting his features.

The _Gawain_ came to life, eyes glowing green. It stepped out into the centre of the chamber, bullets ricocheting harmlessly off its black armour. Whoever of the two was driving finally figured out the Landspinners, and the _Gawain _raced away along the tunnel. Those in the chamber could only watch as the _Gawain_ charged out into the open, blew apart two _Sutherlands_ with quick shots from its Hadron cannons, then soared away into the sky.

"The _Gawain_!" Bartley wailed, staring open-mouthed after it. "Our beautiful prize _Gawain_!"

"Oh well," Schneizel commented, "it was only a prototype. Aside from that, I'm thankful you're both all right." He turned, momentarily regarding Livonze and Tieria as they poured over the screens. Of more immediate importance was Euphemia, who was being helped off the slab by Suzaku and the guards.

"Oh Schneizel!" she explained, hurrying over to him, joy on her dust-caked face. "I've missed you!"

"Dear Euphie." Schneizel radiated warmth as he turned to greet her. "Sorry it took us so long."

"No, it's all right."

"Major Suzaku Kururugi!" The siblings looked up to see the guards surrounding a bewildered Suzaku. "You are under arrest for violation of military regulations!"

Euphemia gave a gasp of surprise.

"What's the meaning of this!" she demanded, rounding on the guards. "Major Kururugi is my knight! How dare you…!" Schneizel stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"This is something I can take care of later," he said. "Let it be for now."

Livonze and Tieria were watching intently. As Suzaku was led away Tieria glanced at Livonze, his face expressionless. Livonze smiled, as understanding passed between them, and nodded his assent.

* * *

_**Britannian HQ,**__**Tokyo Settlement, September 2017 ATB**_

Alexander felt sick at heart.

He was ashamed, because he had not been at Princess Euphemia's side in her hour of need. It had been left to Suzaku to defend her, to take on the Black Knights who had attacked the Shikine Island base. He did not know the details, save that he and Euphemia had somehow gone missing, necessitating a frantic search of the surrounding area. Thankfully, the Princess had turned up safe and sound two days later on nearby Kamine Island, found there by Prince Schneizel aboard his personal floatship, the _Avalon_.

But then sadness was added to shame, for Suzaku had subsequently resigned as Princess Euphemia's knight. The matter was being kept quiet, but Alexander had been one of the first to hear.

It made no sense. Why would Suzaku give back the honour she had bestowed upon him? What could have driven him to act so churlishly? Had he suffered some terrible disgrace? What could he have done that was so shameful, so base, as to make him act so appallingly as to forswear his oaths as her knight?

In Suzaku's place he would have killed himself. That he knew, with a soul-sickening certainty. Better to die there and then, and be buried with honour restored by the deed, than live on in shame and infamy, his terrible secret sooner or later coming to light. Better to die than see his father's dignity irreparably impugned.

He also knew Suzaku, or rather he liked to think he did. He had seen something in the younger boy's eyes, a sincerity and honesty that so many people assigned to himself. He had also sensed Suzaku's devotion to Princess Euphemia, the all-consuming desire to serve and protect her no matter what the cost.

He did not know why. But it was there.

He could not imagine how Euphemia must have been feeling. Perhaps that was why she had summoned him.

So he waited, in the anteroom to the Viceregal office, staring out of the window. The sky outside was dull and grey, reminiscent of his mood. Tomorrow would be October, and winter wasn't far off. There were storms over Kyushu, and rumours of Chinese plots brewing.

Alexander stepped on the train of thought, welcoming the distraction. He had heard all the gossip and rumour-mongering, that the Chinese Federation was readying to launch some sort of attack. The weather had led to an upsurge in the rumours, it being put about that the Chinese might make their move with the storms as cover.

When he thought about it, he wasn't sure whether to believe the rumours or not. The Chinese Federation would have to be fools, or possessed of some hidden trump card, to believe they could take on the Holy Empire of Britannia with any chance of success. Even if Britannia could not hope to spare enough troops for a full-scale invasion, the havoc the Imperial fleet could wreak on the Federation's coastal cities and infrastructure would be terrible indeed.

Then again, the Chinese Federation had its enormous air force, numbering many thousands of combat aircraft. On top of that were its glacier fortresses, glacial in their pace, but utterly deadly to anything that wandered into weapons range. They could make a fight of it if they were determined.

Did they believe that Britannia was overstretched?

Or did they have some other plan? Had they made some other arrangement? With the EU perhaps?

Alexander did not accept the commonplace opinion in Britannia of Chinese soldiers, that they were craven and cowardly, weakened by their idiotic ideals. His father had told him otherwise, that Chinese soldiers were courageous and selfless, more so than most Britannian soldiers. What was more, the Federation had bred many fine strategists, developing between them a knack for overcoming the material with the moral.

It was possible. It was just possible that they might attempt it, to slip their troops in under cover of the storms. It was madness, and would likely see the troops drowned, but it might just work. Not even Princess Cornelia, on her way back from the front aboard the battlecarrier _Crown Illuminate_, would be able to do anything until the storms cleared.

The thoughts faded, returning him to his sorrow.

"Her highness will see you now." The voice of the secretary caught his attention.

"Thank you." The doors were opened, and he strode through into the office.

"Alexander." Euphemia managed a smile as he bowed. "Thank you so much for coming."

"I could not do otherwise, your highness." As he straightened up, Alexander saw that she was holding a medallion in her hand, shaped like a winged sword.

The symbol of knighthood. The one Suzaku had returned to her.

Did she intend to give it to him?

"I…suppose you've heard about Suzaku." Alexander saw the sadness in her eyes, matching that of her voice, and felt a lump in his throat.

"I am very sorry to hear of it, your highness." He did not have to feign sincerity. "I cannot understand why Major Kururugi should scorn your service."

"It was not scorn, Alexander. It was honour, as he saw it."

"Might I ask what happened, your highness?"

Euphemia told him. She told him of how the Black Knights had attacked, of how they had managed to disable the _Lancelot_, of how Zero had gone to take Suzaku prisoner, only to be captured himself. She told him of how Lieutenant-Colonel Fayer, commander of the air base, had called in a missile bombardment on Suzaku's transponder signal, seeking to sacrifice him in order to get Zero. She told him of how Suzaku had fled, screaming that he wanted to live, and allowed Zero to escape. She told him of how she had met Zero on Kamine island, and of their adventures there, and of his eventual escape.

Alexander could not make sense of it. For the first time in his life, the values he so cherished failed to show him the way. Should Suzaku have stood and died, sacrificing his life and a valuable prototype in a cause other than that of his Princess? Was he right to flee, having been so utterly and contemptibly betrayed? Was it proper of him to feel ashamed?

He had no answer.

"I can only say, your highness," he managed to reply, "that to flee in that way is not in his character."

"I know it isn't," Euphemia's reply was distant, as if she were wrestling with some difficult question. "I believe that something more is going on here."

"Something more, your highness?" Alexander was surprised, and more than a little intrigued.

"There were two young men with Schneizel, who insisted on examining Suzaku," the Princess explained. "They wore his livery, but I've never seen them before. They were…strange. It was as if they knew something that no one else did. I can't explain it properly, but I know I'm not imagining it."

"I understand, your highness." _Now_ he was intrigued.

"There's…something else." Euphemia turned away from him, clutching the medallion tightly in her hand. "I…I shouldn't say this…but there's really no one else I can trust! No one else I can turn to!"

"What is it, your highness?" Concern warred with curiosity inside Alexander. What could be upsetting her so? "Please tell me. I will repeat none of it. You have my word!"

Euphemia turned to face him, sorrow and fear on her doll-like face.

"I encountered Zero, and saw him without his mask. It…was Lelouch."

(**Sorry once again that it took so long. I only hope the quality makes up for it. I was a little surprised by TheLastChronicler's comment that Alexander was being pushed aside. I can assure you all that he will take centre stage very soon. As for Schneizel's royal guards being present at Kaminejima, I thought it made sense for him to have his loyal troops nearby, as opposed to regular troops who might tell tales. They arrested Suzaku because word had already been sent of his 'treachery', as well as the reason I implied. I did that part primarily from Schneizel's perspective to make a change from the anime, and it also gave me the opportunity to set up his part in the coming events. I took away Kallen's flash device, whatever that was, because there was no way she should have such a thing on her after Suzaku caught her, searched her, and tied her up. I think it only a minor quibble though.) **


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

_**HIMS Crown Illuminate, Pacific Ocean, October 2017 ATB**_

"It is confirmed, your Highness." Despite his Princess' fury, Gilbert G. P. Guilford retained his customary dignity. "Fukuoka base is confirmed to be in Chinese hands as of two hours ago."

Cornelia slammed her clenched fist down on the armrest of her throne. She was angry, frustrated, even confused. But above all, she was _humiliated_. Chinese troops had managed to land on the soil of an Imperial territory, surprise and defeat Britannian troops, and even secure a major military base. This was an embarrassment beyond compare.

"What information is there?" she asked, through gritted teeth. "What intelligence?"

"Little, your Highness," Guilford replied, his tone emotionless. "I have loaded it onto the holographic map." Taking the cue, Cornelia stood up and strode over to the map table, Guilford at her side. Like all of its class, the _Crown Illuminate_ included holographic map tables in the VIP quarters set aside for high-ranking Admirals and Generals, allowing them to work on their plans without hogging the battlecarrier's CIC.

"Chinese forces have made multiple landings along Kyushu's northern and western coasts." Guilford gestured at the map, the Chinese deployments marked in red. "They cut off the road bridge to Honshu and the bridge to Shikoku an hour later. They've completely overrun Nagasaki prefectures, along with Tsushima, Fukue, and Iki islands, and the coastal regions of Saga, Fukuoka and Oita prefectures. They have also taken the military bases at Nagasaki, Saga, Fukuoka, Kitakyushu, and Oita."

"I take it those bases were under lockdown for the storm?"

"Yes, your Highness. They never stood a chance."

Cornelia could see it in her mind's eye. The fighters, gunships, and knightmares secure in their hangars, the men huddled in their barracks, safe from the howling gales and crashing thunder, but not from the hard-eyed, rain-sodden Chinese soldiers creeping across the storm-lashed ground towards them.

She scanned her eyes over the deployments. No Chinese warships were present, and she thought it unlikely that they would attempt the crossing in landing craft. The Joseon peninsula was only a few hundred kilometres away, too far to attempt such a voyage even over calm seas. They would not deploy paratroopers in such weather, so the troops must have either deployed from submarines or used converted civilian ships to approach undetected.

Her lip curled. It was a bold plan, but there was no way it should have worked, not without massive support. The Kyushu block contained seven major settlements, each garrisoned by a single mechanized infantry regiment of nearly three thousand troops along with an attached air combat group. On top of that there should have been three divisions, each of around ten thousand troops, with an attached company of sixty knightmares, a tank battalion containing around fifty tanks, and a full air combat wing of around fifty _Carnwennan_ gunships. Against such might, a full-scale invasion of tens, even hundreds of thousands of Chinese troops would be needed.

"But where is their support?" she asked aloud, mostly to herself. "Our forces will surely crush them once the storm has cleared." A thought occurred, and not a pleasant one. "What's the status of Fukuoka base's defences?"

"Unknown, your Highness." Cornelia forced herself not to curse. Fukuoka was a major military base, intended to be Britannia's citadel in Kyushu. If the Chinese troops had managed to capture its SAM batteries and railgun turrets intact, then retaking it would be a hard task indeed.

The intercom beeped. Guilford strode over and activated it.

"Incoming communication for her Imperial Highness. It's his Highness Prince Schneizel."

"On the main monitor," Cornelia ordered. The wall-mounted screen shimmered, and her older half-brother's familiar face appeared. He was as unreadable as ever.

"Cornelia. I trust you've heard the news?"

"I have, Schneizel. Have you further news?"

"As it happens I have." His voice was perfectly calm, so much so as to convince anyone who didn't know him that the situation was having no effect on him. "This little incursion is apparently a humanitarian effort in support of Japanese citizens seeking to re-establish their independence."

"In other words," Cornelia replied sourly, "they're using some useful idiots to grab some territory."

"Direct and to the point as always." Schneizel chuckled. "The useful idiot in this case is a certain Atsushi Sawasaki." A smaller window appeared in the lower left corner of the screen. The face was long and thin, with a protuberant chin and a high forehead. The eyes were narrow and dark, shadowed by an overbearing brow. Cornelia thought she had seen it before somewhere.

"Wasn't he part of the Kururugi administration?"

"Yes. He was the Chief Cabinet Minister. We knew he was hiding in China, but I never expected him to try something like this, considering how little popular support he has."

"Then perhaps you'll tell me who's _really_ in charge. The Chinese don't lend troops."

"The commander of the _volunteers,_" Schneizel replied, "is confirmed to be General Tsao Yuan Ming."

"That's a name I've heard before," Cornelia mused. "He used to be military governor of the Liaodong District before he_ retired_."

"What do you know about him?"

"An excellent operational planner and a dab hand at office politics, though he's never commanded in the field. I can see him planning an operation like this, and in such a way as to make it work, but he might not perform so well once the counterattack begins."

"Speaking of that, I want to ask you a small favour." Cornelia sighed inwardly. Schneizel was laying on the charm, and that was never a good sign.

"If it's to crush this insult of an invasion under my boot heel, then the pleasure is mine."

"I never doubted it. On that point, would you not agree that the most efficient way to end this crisis is by retaking Fukuoka base?"

"Destroying it, you mean. If they have the defences online we can't afford to hold back." She knew with a horrible certainty what the base's railguns would do to her troops. Breaking Fukuoka base would require reduction of the air defences, a task that could take weeks if the Chinese personnel were competent, before destroying the remaining defences from the air. That, if nothing else, was what made the whole thing so _infuriating_.

"Cornelia, there's no one I would rather trust with military matters than you," Schneizel replied, smiling too much. "But I have something in mind that will end this crisis in the space of a few hours."

"I suppose it involves that ship of yours, the _Avalon_?" Cornelia tried not to sound sceptical, and failed. Schneizel had spent a significant amount of his personal income on its construction. Rumour had it that the ship incorporated some rather exotic technologies, created by one or more of the research bureaus he maintained at his own expense.

"Yes sister, it does." If Schneizel was offended by her tone, he did not show it. "A lightning thrust against Fukuoka base will decapitate the Chinese forces in one blow and at the same time remove the single largest impediment to our counter-attack. _Avalon_ will provide that thrust, along with the _Lancelot_."

"With Kururugi piloting, I assume." Cornelia's lip curled at the thought. "Very well. He has disgraced my sister with his shameful conduct. Let him redeem himself through victory or death."

"I do hope it shall be victory, which is where my little favour comes in." Schneizel gave her a smile of angelic sincerity. "I wish to borrow a certain officer of your knightmare guards, by the name of Alexander Waldstein."

"Alexander?" Cornelia could not keep the surprise from her face. "What do you want with him?"

"Earl Asplund was kind enough to supply me with an additional float unit, specifically the mass-production prototype. I wish Captain Waldstein to accompany Major Kururugi into battle." For a long time there was silence.

"Schneizel." Cornelia's tone was ice-cold. "Are you _seriously_ asking me to send an officer of my guards to his death?"

"Forgive me for saying so Cornelia," Schneizel was entirely unruffled. "But it wouldn't be the first time."

Cornelia wanted to retort. She wanted to scream and roar at him, to punish him for the outrage, the sheer effrontery of his request. But she also knew that it was not a request at all. Only one man in the whole Empire could override the exclusive bond of master and knight, and Schneizel had been doing that man's job for several years. If he wanted Alexander, he would simply take him, with or without her consent.

"If you wish to borrow my knight," she replied. "May I suggest you have _him_ pilot the _Lancelot_ and do with Kururugi as he richly deserves."

"I'm afraid that's not possible. Earl Asplund insists that the _Lancelot_ won't respond to anyone else. Aside from that, Major Kururugi is under my protection, on a matter of some importance." Schneizel held her gaze, and Cornelia felt the old sinking feeling.

"Oh…_very well_!"

"Excellent!" Schneizel beamed. "I'll contact you again presently." The screen went blank.

"_Schneizel._" Cornelia's thoughts were dark. "_He's not your plaything._"

"Shall I summon the Admiral, your Highness?" Guilford asked, noting her mood.

"Guilford, who is currently in command of the 83rd Division?"

"General Lucien Caldicott, your Highness."

"Caldicott," Cornelia growled. "So that's why he wants Alexander."

"I don't follow, your Highness."

"Caldicott's division is closest to Fukuoka, and the only one that could support Kururugi if Schneizel launches the attack within the next twelve hours. There is talk that he sympathizes with the Purity League, though he has never come out openly."

"Your Highness fears he will tarry at the crucial moment."

"But he would not dare abandon the Knight of One's son," Cornelia concluded. "Schneizel wants to prove how wonderful his new toys are, and he doesn't want Caldicott ruining the demonstration. He needs Kururugi to pilot the _Lancelot_, but it doesn't matter to him if Alexander dies." The last she almost spat, such was her bitterness.

"Sir Alexander is as fine a young knight as I have ever known, your Highness," Guilford said gravely. "His loss would diminish us all."

"That he would, Guilford." Cornelia half-turned, eyeing her knight with angry eyes. "But do not presume to believe I would not send him to his death, if that was what was needed."

"He is your knight, your Highness, as am I. It is the fate he and I willingly share."

"Schneizel thinks I care for him too much to sacrifice him," Cornelia went on, apparently satisfied. "That was why he provoked me a moment ago. It is his way, Guilford, so be warned." She strode over to the map table.

"_But you do care for him_," Guilford thought, staring at her back. "_More so than you could ever bring yourself to admit._"

* * *

_**Avalon, crossing the Bungo Channel**_

Alexander felt the g-force suit tighten around him as he zipped it up. The feeling was familiar, comfortable. But he still felt sick at heart.

It was not the coming battle that bothered him. His Princess had commanded, and he would obey. He would fight, trusting in his own strength, and leaving his fate in heaven's balance. He did not fear death, for to die in battle would bring honour to his father, and to Princess Cornelia. He could count on one hand the number of people who would truly mourn him. And if he was dead, he need never fear discovery, and the inevitable disgrace.

He'd had to leave Rai behind. _Again._

It had been many hours since he had last spoken with Princess Euphemia, when she had told him the horrible truth. The revelation was still in the back of his mind, something new to haunt him.

"_It…was Lelouch._"

Prince Lelouch, precious son of his beloved benefactor, whom he had so long thought to be dead, was Zero.

Zero, the self-styled masked fighter for justice. Zero, the black knight who sought to bring down the Holy Empire of Britannia.

Zero, who was his enemy.

He shut the cabinet door and leaned against it, willing the darkness away from his heart. It was not relevant to his mission, and he could not afford to be distracted.

But what if it was? What if Zero had some part in the crisis? Was he out there even now?

Would he have to kill Lelouch?

"_It's your own fault_," whispered the dark voice from within. "_Because you were a coward, and would not face your fate. You denied me, and I shall claim another, and another, and another, until the sin of your false life has been expiated._"

He forced the thought away, as he had done so many times before, and strode out of his stateroom, the door sliding shut behind him.

The corridor was brightly lit, and the air pressure remarkably well-balanced. Alexander would not have known, had he not known already, that he was aboard nothing less than a flying ship. The _Avalon_ was thus far the only floatship in existence, an achievement beyond compare, and one that would change the face of war. Alexander knew he should feel thrilled, awestruck even, that he was going into battle aboard such a vessel.

But it could not distract him, at least not as much as he would like.

He decided to check on his _Gloucester_, to see if they had done fitting the float unit. A short elevator ride took him to the hangar deck, and that was where he found Suzaku Kururugi.

Sitting slumped against a console, staring at something in his hand. Taken by surprise, Alexander said nothing at first. He glanced up at the _Lancelot_, standing nearby like some gleaming metallic statue. Above it, suspended by manipulator arms, was the red-painted float unit, essentially a set of engines and pair of wings that would fit over the cockpit, rendering the _Lancelot_ capable of true flight. The _Lancelot _was as revolutionary as the ship that was carrying it.

He coughed to get Suzaku's attention.

"Captain Waldstein," Suzaku greeted him, standing up straight and saluting. He pushed the item, which Alexander saw to be a pocket watch, into his pocket.

"Major Kururugi." Alexander did likewise. "Forgive me for disturbing you sir."

"It's all right." His voice was as melancholy as his manner. "I was…distracted." There was an awkward silence.

"Major Kururugi, if you will forgive my impertinence, I have a question."

"As you wish," Suzaku replied, turning to face him once again.

"For what reason did you resign as Princess Euphemia's knight?" Suzaku's face remained expressionless, but Alexander could see something in his eyes. Was it shame?

"I thought the reason would be obvious, Captain Waldstein."

"I cannot say I understand what happened," Alexander replied. "Forgive me for speaking bluntly, but you did her Highness no favour by quitting her service."

"You don't understand," Suzaku almost snapped at him. "I brought shame upon Princess Euphemia. I abandoned my post, let Zero escape…and I don't even remember."

Alexander was at first surprised by the latter, until he remembered what Euphemia had told him before.

"Major Kururugi," he paused, choosing his words. "For what it is worth, I know that such conduct is not in your character. Princess Euphemia feels the same way." Suzaku seemed momentarily taken aback.

"You are generous to say so, Sir Alexander," he replied, switching to a less formal address. "But even so, I am responsible, whether I can explain it or not."

"Major Kururugi." Alexander trailed off, wondering if he dared say what he wanted to say. After a moment's hesitation, he decided.

"Her Imperial Highness is not merely my Mistress' beloved sister." he said, his words seeming to trip over each other as they came out. "It may be arrogance, or presumption, but I believe I am also her friend. As her loyal friend, I must tell you…that your resignation caused her Imperial Highness great sorrow." He felt mortified as he heard himself speak the words, but nor could he stop himself from speaking them. They came from the heart, and his heart demanded they be spoken.

He steeled himself, half-expecting anger or even violence from Suzaku. But the younger knight did not reply. If anything, his countenance was even more sorrowful and unhappy than it had been a moment earlier.

An awkward silence followed, neither knowing what to say.

"Sir Alexander," Suzaku said eventually, his voice hoarse. "May I confide in you, in confidence?"

"By all means Major."

"I believe his Highness Prince Schneizel may know the reason." Alexander tried and partially succeeded in keeping the surprise from his face. He knew that Prince Schneizel had protected Suzaku, ordering the investigation halted before it had even begun and swearing all involved to secrecy. That the matter had remained secret, he having learned all he knew from Euphemia, was proof that those in the know feared Schneizel's enmity more than they disapproved of Suzaku. He had wondered why the prince would go so far.

"I was interviewed by his Highness, and two of his subordinates," Suzaku went on. "I overheard them saying that it was as Veda had postulated." He looked straight at Alexander, his eyes haunted. "Sir Alexander, do you have any idea what Veda might be?"

"I cannot say sir." Alexander was quite mystified, not only by the tale, but by the fact that they had allowed Suzaku to overhear such things. They were evidently confident that he would not understand. "I can tell you that Veda is the name given to the Hindu scriptures. What they said does not make sense, unless they are given to mysticism."

"I see." Suzaku gave a world-weary sigh. "I suppose it doesn't matter. I won't come away from this mission alive." Part of Alexander wanted to object to that sentiment, but he knew that it was probably true. In Britannia, people like Suzaku Kururugi existed to do the impossible or die trying.

Was he any different?

* * *

_**Fukuoka Base HQ**_

As many had suspected, the defence emplacements of Fukuoka base were intact and online. The base had been overrun so quickly that here had been no time for the defenders to properly destroy them. What little damage they had been able to inflict had been quickly repaired.

General Tsao Yuan Ming was more than a little proud. His troops had performed better than he could have hoped for. Thanks to their dedication, the storm, and perhaps the favour of heaven, he had a fully-equipped Britannian military base at his disposal.

Officially the base had been 'liberated' by Japanese rebels, and the Chinese troops had landed at to provide 'humanitarian assistance.' The Japanese rebels had in fact been five thousand Chinese marines, along with hundreds of the Veiled Pavilion's finest spec-ops troopers. Many of the latter had trickled in covertly over the previous months, while others had infiltrated via civilian ships and aircraft, securing the ports and airports as the storm descended and the main attack on Fukuoka base was underway. With the ports and airports under control, they had been able to bring in more than forty thousand additional troops even through the storm. It would not have been possible otherwise. Though the storm was clearing, his fifty thousand troops were well dug-in along the coast and along the approaches to the base. Between them, the base's artillery, and the _Huanchong _VTOL gunships being un-packed and readied in the base's hangars, they were in a position to resist any counter-attack in the immediate future.

The only fly in an otherwise unsullied ointment was standing beside him.

He did not think much of Atsushi Sawasaki. The man was a borrowed dagger and willingly so, content to be ruled-over as long as he could rule over others. He would be the Chinese Federation's devoted servant, acting in accordance with its interests, and gradually preparing Japan for its destiny. Such was a cherished dream of the Chinese Federation since its founding, but Tsao could not help but feel dissatisfied.

"I trust that your preparations are complete?" Even his voice was irritating, though Tsao would never stoop to admit it.

"They are complete," he replied.

"It's too bad we can't use more of the Britannian equipment," Sawasaki commented.

"We're already using the APCs." Tsao contained his irritation at having to explain such things to a civilian. "Our technical personnel are still preparing the tanks, though we don't have enough trained personnel to make best use of them. Also, we don't have any VTOL pilots trained to handle the Britannian gunships." He chose not to tell Sawasaki that he had sent two of the _Carnwennan_ gunships back to China, just in case they should be of interest.

"Very well, I'm sure you did your best."

"Aerial contact approaching from Shikoku!" barked a voice from the radar consoles. "Range 200 k, altitude 10 k! Enemy transponder confirmed…it's the _Avalon_!" A moment later the icon appeared on the main screen, just crossing the Bungo channel. Tsao felt a sudden thrill, the same thrill he had felt when the operation began. This was how it felt to command in the field, to fight the battle and win the victory. This campaign would start him on the road to power. The Eunuchs would reward him, promote him, thinking him their loyal plaything. They would get what was coming to them.

"Plot a firing solution. Order Battery D to fire a full spread."

"Battery D confirms order. Ready to fire."

"Solution plotted. Battery D confirms receipt. Firing!"

Tsao saw the icons detach themselves from the base icon. He watched as they moved across the screen, so clean and clinical, the minute counting down as they went. He imagined them soaring through the clouds, contrails painting the sky in wild, chaotic calligraphy.

They struck, the icon disappearing as the screen flickered around it.

"Confirmed hit!"

"There, you see," Sawasaki proclaimed, fist clenched in triumph. "One ship can't defeat us, even if it _is_ state of the art!"

"Continue scanning," Tsao ordered.

"Contact! Target is active!"

"What!" Tsao took a moment of satisfaction from Sawasaki's reaction.

"As I suspected," he said, his tone level. "Their energy shield protected them."

"Energy shield!" Sawasaki spluttered, rounding on him. "What kind of science-fiction nonsense is that!"

"Science-fiction nonsense that Britannia has managed to build," Tsao replied sourly. As amusing as Sawasaki's terror was, the matter was not something to be happy about. A team of Chinese Federation scientists had figured out the principles underlying the _Blaze Luminous_, as the Britannians called their energy shield technology, but were months away from a working prototype. It was unfortunate, for such a system could change the face of warfare.

"Well then what are you going to do about it!" demanded a panic-stricken Sawasaki. His already pale skin had somehow turned even paler.

"The power requirements for an energy shield are considerable, meaning that they can only defend one part of the ship at a time." That was one piece of useful intelligence the scientists had been able to provide. "We will maintain constant fire upon it, forcing it to maintain its shielding over that particular vector. At the same time, our gunships will attack it from other vectors."

"So you can stop it?" Sawasaki pressed, clutching at straws.

"I believe we can."

"What do you mean you _believe _you can!"

* * *

_**Avalon**_

"Capacitors at maximum," came Cecile Croomy's no-nonsense voice from the comm. "Ready to launch."

"All systems show ready," Alexander replied in kind, scanning his eyes over the console one last time. "Yggdrasil drive online. Float engines show ready."

"Launching in five…four…three…two…one…launch!"

Alexander felt himself being crushed into his seat as the _Avalon_'s nose-mounted heavy railgun hurled him forward. In an instant the barrel's narrow confines were replaced with the open air, racing past him with a speed he had never before witnessed. Never before had he flown like that, not even when he was earning his VTOL license. Never had he been so close to the edge, so swift and yet so unprotected, only thin layers of composite between him and the chill wind through which he soared.

An insistent beeping drew him from his euphoria. He glanced down at his sensor screen, saw the contacts approaching. It was time to fight.

"Major Kururugi," he said into the comm. "I'll take the gunships. Save your VARIS rounds for later."

"Very well." Alexander clicked his rollerballs, drawing his Machine Pistols, twin reticules appearing on his main viewscreen. The storm might have passed, but the sky was still thick with heavy grey cloud, and he could not see the oncoming enemies.

His console beeped again, warning of a hostile scan. And there they were, emerging from the clouds a few kilometres ahead. They were shorter and somewhat stockier in appearance than Britannian _Carnwennan_s, but they were unquestionably VTOL gunships. The IFF confirmed a moment later what Alexander already knew.

"Enemy gunships inbound," he said, his voice cool but insistent.

"Enemies confirmed," Cecile replied from the _Avalon_, now tens of kilometres behind. "Clear to engage."

"Do look after my _Lancelot _Sir Alexander," added Lloyd. "I couldn't bear for it to be destroyed this early in the battle. And especially not by Chinese gunships."

Alexander did not bother to reply. He eased down the pedals, feeling the press of g-forces as his _Gloucester _accelerated. He drew on the joysticks, the glowing reticules drifting across the screen until they lay over two of the oncoming gunships. The reticules reacted, each one a double circle, the outer circle rotating around the inner as the targeting computer made its calculations.

They fired, Alexander's console buzzing frantically as the anti-tank missiles locked on. Of the six gunships, three had targeted him, six red icons flashing on his main screen. Alexander's thumbs worked the rollerballs, switching the targets to the oncoming missiles. He had maybe a few seconds.

He fired, twin streams of tracer lancing across the sky. Two of the missiles were hit, bright flashes marking their demise, but already Alexander was shifting to the others. Two more went down, but still two more remained, blazing across the sky towards him. Alexander pressed his feet down and left, the _Gloucester _banking sideways. The missiles turned to follow, but the manoeuvre had bought him the few seconds he needed. Fire burning in his nerves, Alexander squeezed the triggers. The missiles detonated.

Two icons indicating his Machine Pistols flashed red, informing him that they were out of ammunition. Alexander holstered them, then turned his attention to the screen as the autoloaders set to work. The three gunships were closing, but did not fire their remaining missiles, doubtless wishing to save them for the _Avalon._ Alexander gritted his teeth, the tension of the battle combining with a touch of irritation that they should take him so lightly.

He thrust down the pedals, the _Gloucester _blazing up and away as the gunships opened up with their chin guns. He dodged, dodged again, bullets hissing past as the gunships tried to follow him. Alexander could feel his heart pounding like a drum. He wanted to attack, but knew he could not. The three would never come within range of his Slash Harkens, and if he tried to attack one in particular the others would bracket him. He just needed a few more seconds.

Reload complete. Alexander ripped the Machine Pistols from their holsters. He keyed for semi-automatic fire, and with all of his concentration drew aim on the nearest of the gunships. He fired, 30mm rounds tearing through the gunship's thin armour. The gunship blew apart, and Alexander was already aiming at his next target. The gunship reacted, jinking and darting to throw off his aim.

Alexander did not take the bait. He knew that the enemy was hoping he would fly straight for a level shot, leaving him vulnerable to the other gunship manoeuvring into position behind him. Instead he broke right and spun, bringing his guns to bear on the other gunship as it lined up to fire. Alexander fired, the gunship exploding as he broke away, coilgun rounds hissing through the air his knightmare had occupied a moment earlier. He spun and fired, blowing the remaining gunship apart.

He glanced at his sensor screen, looking for the _Lancelot_. There it was, soaring like an eagle a kilometre or so away.

"Are you all right Sir Alexander?" asked Suzaku's voice over the comm.

"I'm fine sir." Alexander spurred his knightmare after the _Lancelot_ as six more gunships emerged from the clouds.

"Leave the missiles to me," Suzaku ordered. "Shoot them down."

"Yes, my lord," Alexander replied in reflex, manoeuvring himself behind the _Lancelot _as the gunships opened fire. He was momentarily entranced as the white knightmare soared ahead, weaving up and around as the missiles chased after it, their contrails coiling and spiralling. In that moment he felt a twinge of jealousy. What couldn't _he_ achieve at the controls of the _Lancelot_?

He forced the feeling away, drawing his freshly-reloaded Machine Pistols as the missiles came on. _Lancelot_ flew up and away, forearms wreathed in the emerald light of Blaze Luminous. Sure enough, the missiles followed after, leaving his way clear.

Alexander fired, and two of the gunships blew apart. He jinked left and right as the survivors turned their guns on him, tracer criss-crossing the sky. He returned fire, blowing one apart and damaging another, the crippled gunship wobbling down through the clouds. Alexander turned his attention to the survivors, ready to inflict the same fate upon them.

They exploded.

Alexander was momentarily stunned, until he saw the _Lancelot_ drop down beside him, retracting its Slash Harkens. He suppressed a shiver of irritation.

They flew on, and the clouds began to clear before them, revealing a cluster of grey monoliths. As they flew closer, Alexander could make out the mighty oblong shape of the HQ building, fashioned to resemble a castle keep of old. He could see a runway rimmed with landing lights, reaching out from the main building as if to welcome him.

They had arrived.

Alexander's comm beeped. He glanced up at the comm screen, directly above the main viewscreen. The image resolved into the head and upper body of a thin, narrow-faced man in a dark suit. Alexander saw the high domed forehead, the receding hair, and the dark and narrow eyes. He knew who it was.

"I am Sawasaki." The voice was clipped, with a sneering quality that set Alexander's teeth on edge. "Pilot of the approaching knightmare, are you the son of Kururugi?"

Alexander heard something in the background. He wasn't sure, but it might have been a gasp from Suzaku.

"I see," Sawasaki went on. "So you are his son."

Alexander felt his blood run cold.

"_Kururugi? Genbu Kururugi's son?_"

There were few in the world who did not know the name of Genbu Kururugi. Genbu Kururugi, who had sought to raise his nation to greatness through the economic power afforded by sakuradite. Genbu Kururugi, who had bullied his country's neighbours, driving them into the arms of the Chinese Federation. Genbu Kururugi, who had brought ruin and defeat upon Japan.

Genbu Kururugi, the last samurai, who had killed himself to spare his people further suffering.

And the boy a few hundred metres away from him, the boy at the _Lancelot_'s controls, was his son and heir.

"My father has nothing to do with this!" He heard Suzaku's voice on the comm, hard and determined. "I have come to end the fighting. I ask you to surrender." All the while the _Lancelot _continued its descent, dropping gently towards the runway like a conventional aircraft. Alexander did likewise, letting down his Landspinners as he came in. He felt a slight press of force as the float unit fired its retro-rockets, slowing him down.

"You would crush the dream of an independent Japan?" demanded Sawasaki.

"No, but this is not the way it should be brought about," Suzaku replied.

"You're still such a child!" Sawasaki sneered. "Bound to your simplistic sense of justice!"

"No!" Suzaku protested. "I…!"

Alexander's thoughts were disordered. Who, or what, was the young man fighting by his side? Could he be trusted? Or was he what Princess Cornelia had suspected him to be? Could he trust Suzaku?

His IFF beeped, pulling him back to reality. Red icons were on his scanner screen, swarming them from all sides. He saw the _Lancelot_ lurch,explosions blossoming over the white armour. A shot struck the VARISrifle, knocking it from the white knightmare's hand. It scattered along the ground, before another shot blew it apart.

Alexander could see them. Dark green, with arms painted a dark red. They looked vaguely ridiculous, like frogs on wheels, until they opened fire.

Chinese _Gun-Ru _knightmares.

They came on, blazing fire from their arms and waists. The _Lancelot_ fell back, shots richocheting off its armour and exploding on its forearm shields. Alexander fired, downing two _Gun-Ru_s with his first bursts.

But more of them came on, unperturbed by the losses. They seemed to swarm at him like so many locusts, firing all the while. It was all Alexander could do to dodge their fire, knowing that he could not withstand it half so well as Suzaku could.

But it was not a swarm, not mere pack behaviour. Already Alexander could see method to the madness. The _Gun-Ru_s were moving in teams of six, splitting and spreading out to encircle him, arranging themselves to apply maximum firepower. Each of them might be technically inferior to his _Gloucester_, but if they played their cards right they could take both him and Suzaku down by weight of fire alone.

He jinked and dodged, firing all the while, even as his movements threw off his aim. Many of his shots went wide, but at least some hit home. Two more _Gun-Ru_s exploded, while two more fell back, smoke wafting from the stumps of their arms. But always there were more, and always they were firing. Warning buzzers screeched as his float unit was hit, forcing him to jettison it as Suzaku had done, lest it explode and do for him.

The Machine Pistols fell silent. Alexander glanced down at his console, dreading what he would find there.

Empty. The autoloaders too.

There was only one thing to do. Alexander holstered the pistols, and reached up one arm for the Heat Katana. The blade screamed as it came alive, shining the colour of flame.

"Alexander!" Suzaku called, ducking the _Lancelot_ into a gap between two buildings as the float unit was blasted from his back. "My battery's low!" Alexander glanced down at his console again. His own Energy Filler was down to 40%.

"Stay there!" he barked, gripping the Heat Katana.

"Surrender now," came Sawasaki's sneering voice again. "I'll see to it that you're treated in the manner befitting the orphaned son of Japan's last Prime Minister. Your companion will be treated with the honours of war."

There was no shooting, no fighting. The _Gun-Ru_s were surrounding them, guns levelled to fire. Alexander willed his pounding heart to still, and dreaded what Suzaku might say.

"Sir Alexander Waldstein..." Alexander's heart stopped. The world seemed to stand still.

"Use this!" Alexander's eyes widened as the _Lancelot_ drew back its arm and threw its inert Maser Vibration Sword. His screened queried whether he wanted to catch the approaching object. Alexander jammed down his thumb, and his _Gloucester_'s left hand curled around the ornate hilt. The icon shone green, and the sword blazed to crimson life.

The _Gun-Ru_s fired, but Alexander was already moving, glowing blades aimed like lances. He pierced two of them before they could back away, slamming down his pedals to reverse, drawing the swords out as he withdrew. The knightmares exploded, and he pressed forward again, through the gap and out of the cordon. He spun, cutting two more in half. Suzaku was at his back, the other of his twin MVS in hand.

They were through, racing away towards the HQ tower. Alexander tensed as he gazed up at the monolith, waiting for the automated gun turrets to open fire, but they did not. All he saw were more _Gun-Ru_s, counter-charging with guns blazing. Alexander and Suzaku sped on, cutting them down as they passed. All it once they were inside the central compound, the HQ tower looming over them, and yet more _Gun-Ru_s swarming to bar their way.

Alexander glanced at Suzaku, and felt a cold knife in his stomach as he saw the _Lancelot_ slump to its knees. The mighty knightmare was scored and battered, its once pristine white armour pitted, blackened, and torn away in places.

"Sir Suzaku!" he yelled, but there was no answer. He glanced at the comm, and found it to be engaged. His brow furrowed in sudden surprise, for the _Lancelot_ seemed to be receiving a private communication from the HQ in Tokyo Settlement.

Something changed within him as he looked up at his enemies. The _Gun-Ru_s were gathering a short distance away, guns levelled, and countenances grim. Alexander found that he was not afraid, nor was he regretful. Soon it would be over. Soon he would die with honour, and the truth would never be known. His father would be safe.

"Come and take me!" he roared, standing protectively in front of the crippled _Lancelot_. "All hail Britannia!"

"_Ding ying shang_!" the _Gun-Ru_s roared back in one voice. They charged, and Alexander readied himself.

They exploded. The _Gun-Ru_s disintegrated, perforated by high-velocity shrapnel, collapsing into piles of burning wreckage. A small cylinder bounced away, and Alexander recognized the Chaos Grenade.

_Something_ emerged from the smoke.

"Well if it isn't the Young Meister?" rasped a horribly familiar voice from the knightmare's loudspeaker. "We must stop meeting like this."

"You!" Alexander roared, fear and fury warring within him as a gold _Gekka_ stepped casually into the light. "_You!_"

"I thought this little trip would be boring," the gold _Gekk_a commented, dropping into a combat stance. "I guess this must be my lucky day."

"Ali Al-Saachez!" Alexander shrieked, slamming down the pedals. "Face me!" His _Gloucester_ boiled forward, MVS and Heat Katana aimed for the gold _Gekka_'s heart. The gold knightmare raised its left arm, the autocannon blazing fire. Alexander jinked, the shots whistling past as he closed for the kill.

The gold _Gekka_ broke right, but it did not back away as the _Gun-Ru_s had. Instead it clawed at him with its blade-fingered gauntlet, tearing through the _Gloucester_'s cloak. Alexander darted back, the claws tearing free, and slashed at the _Gekka _with his Heat Katana. But the _Gekka _slid away, moving as if made of water, and the blade only glanced, tearing away the left shoulder pauldron.

The _Gekka _dropped back and came in again, gauntlet clawing for his torso. Alexander yanked on the joysticks, the claws scoring the armour as they grasped at him. He knew that deadly claw for what it was, a derivative of the _Guren Nishiki_'s weapon. He knew what would become of him if his enemy got a firm hold.

And he knew what would become of Suzaku if he fell.

He attacked, jabbing with the MVS and slashing with the Heat Katana. The _Gekka_ fell back before the onslaught, struggling to ward off his blows. The gleaming gold armour was soon rent and nicked, torn away in places to reveal the mechanisms beneath. When the _Gekka_ tried to break away, Alexander was there to stop it. When it tried to strike back, Alexander caught the blow. Such was the power of twin blades, and Alexander found he liked it.

He was exultant, a strange and terrible joy burning bright as the sun within him. The tables had turned, and the mighty were fallen in the midst of the battle. He was winning, winning against the fiend that had haunted him since that terrible night so many years ago, winning against the man who had taunted him, frustrated him, defeated him, and escaped every time. The time of Alexander Bismarck Waldstein had come.

The _Gekka_ seemed to weaken, its movements slower, and seeming somehow heavy and weary. Sensing victory, Alexander raised the Heat Katana overhead.

The _Gekka_ jammed its left wrist into his armpit and fired. The impacts flung Alexander against his crash restraints, even as he slammed back the pedals and pulled away. As he fell back, he saw his _Gloucester_'s white arm lying on the ground, sparks leaping from the blasted stump.

"I'll take this," Al-Saachez drawled, the _Gekka _picking up the Heat Katana and slinging it over its shoulder. Alexander gritted his teeth, fury replacing exultation. How could he have fallen for a trick like that?

He glanced down at his console. 10% power left. He looked up, and saw the gold _Gekka _aiming the gauntlet straight at him, deadly energies crackling around its clawed fingers. At the same time the _Gekka _also raised its left arm, autocannon aimed straight at the stricken _Lancelot_. Alexander felt his entire body clench.

"So much for you, young Meister." The _Gekka_ thrust the claw at him.

But Alexander was already moving. He was moving, spinning, even as the gauntlet scored his cockpit. He brought the MVS up as he passed, shearing through the _Gekka_'s left arm at the elbow. The _Gekka _gave a roar, rounding on him as he skidded to a halt. Alexander raised the MVS one last time.

Then he could not see the gold _Gekka_, for it was concealed behind a column of red and black, falling from the sky in a torrent. Alexander stared in shock as the column vanished, leaving behind a crater of molten slag where it had struck the ground. The gold _Gekka_ seemed as shocked as he was, for it did not attack. Alexander looked up, and saw a black and gold shape descend from the night sky.

_Gawain. _

* * *

"Where do you get off interfering in _my_ fights!" Hamid's voice demanded over the comm.

"Hamid!" Lelouch snapped, gripping the joysticks hard as anger welled up inside him. "You obey _me_! This fight stops _now_!"

"He's a Britannian!" Hamid snarled. "He's an enemy! I don't get your logic!"

"_Of course you don't_," Lelouch thought, sorrow and anger mingling within him. "_And you never will._"

"The Britannians will be here any minute!" he barked, switching tack. "Does killing that one matter more than your life!" As if on cue, explosions rumbled in the distance. The attack was underway.

For what seemed like an eternity there was no reply. Then, just as Lelouch feared he would disobey, the gold _Gekka_ turned on its heel and sped away.

"This is gonna cost you Zero," Hamid growled. "I don't appreciate having my time wasted." Lelouch sighed. He would have to deal with that one later.

"Still sentimental," CC commented from the pilot's chair. "He has a point, you know."

"Be quiet, witch." Lelouch keyed the comm.

"Kururugi," he said. "Can you move?"

"So it is you, Zero." Suzaku sounded as serious as ever. Lelouch held out the spare Energy Filler.

"I'm going to destroy the Headquarters," he went on. "What about you?"

"_Lancelot_ has taken too much damage," Suzaku replied. "Give it to Sir Alexander. It is for him to finish this." Lelouch glanced at the maimed, ruined _Gloucester_, which only a moment ago had fought so valiantly. He felt an ache of nostalgia in his heart as he held out the Energy Filler.

"Sir Alexander," Suzaku said. "Please take it. The mission requires this." The grey _Gloucester_ paused, and Lelouch wondered if it would attack. Images of their shared past hung in the back of his mind, happy memories of innocent days.

"Answer me one question, Zero." The familiar voice was cold and hard. "Why do you fight?" Lelouch cleared his throat, choosing his words. CC gave him an insistent look, and he could hear more explosions, closer than before. He did not have much time.

"The Black Knights fight for justice, wherever it may take us," he replied. "We fight for the weak and powerless, no matter who they are. We fight for those who cannot fight for themselves, no matter whom we must fight against. Be they Britannia, Europe, China, or anyone else." He fell silent, his heart pounding.

"I am satisfied." The grey knightmare turned around, exposing the slot for the Energy Filler. Lelouch worked the joysticks, removing the spent battery and sliding the new one into place.

"Take my sword and go, Sir Alexander," Suzaku said. "Stop Sawasaki. Stop this madness."

"Go on, son of the roaring thunder," Lelouch added. "I'll cover you from above."

"Very well." Alexander raised his sword to en-garde position, in salute to his erstwhile enemy. "Another day, Zero." The grey _Gloucester _turned on its heel and raced away towards the tower, the _Gawain _soaring overhead.

* * *

Alexander felt something strange and new within him, as he drove on to the tower.

He was fighting alongside an enemy, one whom his Princess had sworn to destroy. To not do so himself when he had the opportunity was an act of disloyalty to her. Yet Zero had helped him at his darkest moment, and given him the means to complete the mission with which he had been charged.

He had failed Princess Cornelia, failed to fight her cause. But as his father had told him long ago, his honour was his own. It was for his Princess, the one he had wronged, to decide his fate. Thus would the circle be squared, with his own blood if need be.

He felt _pure._

_Gun-Ru_s fell before him like wheat before a scythe. Others, and the AFVs sent to support them, melted under the fury of _Gawain_'s Hadron cannons. He ignored Sawasaki's yelling over the comm, and Zero's airy retorts. His heart was as light as a feather, his soul as clear as day.

_My good blade carves the casques of men_

_My tough lance thrusteth sure_

_My strength is as the strength of ten_

_Because my heart is pure. _

In what seemed like no time at all, he had reached the landing pad. On it was a Chinese VTOL, and hurrying towards it was a lone staff car, three tiny figures huddled inside. Alexander slammed down the pedals, driving himself at the pad with all the speed his wounded knightmare could give. As the moment came, he fired his Slash Harkens, the anchors cutting through the air to hurl the helpless VTOL from the pad. The staff car screeched to a halt as Alexander mounted the platform and leapt onto the pad, _Gawain_ hovering above him.

He gazed down at the staff car. In the driver's seat was unmistakeably a Chinese soldier, clad in the distinctive green armour and helmet, aiming a handgun up at him. Alexander felt admiration for the man's steadfastness, futile though it was. Behind him was a tall, portly man with Asiatic features, clad in a caftan and fur hat, gazing up at him with a face as cold and emotionless as any statue. That one he recognized as General Tsao. Next to him sat Sawasaki, eyes bulging in stark terror.

"General Tsao Yuan Ming!" Alexander called over the loudspeaker. "In the name of the Holy Empire of Britannia, I bid you surrender, or suffer the consequences!"

He did not know it at the time, but two F-24S _Sea Knight _fighters of the HIMS _Crown Illuminate_'s airwing were observing him twenty kilometres away. They did not see the _Gawain_, for it had already taken its leave, but their pictures showed a grey _Gloucester_ knightmare, with one arm and an MVS, taking custody of the traitor Sawasaki and his Chinese puppeteer. Within minutes those images had been transmitted back to the _Crown Illuminate_, and thence to Princess Cornelia li Britannia's own _Gloucester._ Only a few hours later, they would be transmitted via satellite all over the world.

* * *

Alexander would not know the full details until some time afterwards. The first inkling he had of what awaited him came only a few minutes after his successful capture of the rebellion's leaders, and the confirmation of the surrender of those Chinese troops who had not managed to escape. It was upon that very same landing pad, even as Imperial marines were taking the prisoners away, that Alexander waited with his damaged knightmare.

It was the arrival of several more _Gloucesters_, their purple armour and white cloaks resplendent, their gold Shot Lances tall and proud in the light of the dawn.

Alexander was tired, moreso than he could remember being, but nothing could keep him from striding down from the pad as the pilots descended from their cockpits. As they approached, he lowered himself to one knee.

"Your Highness." His voice was hoarse.

"Sir Alexander Waldstein," Cornelia replied, her voice deadpan. "You have feet, stand on them." Alexander did so, trying not to feel intimated by the stares of his fellow Royal Guards, including that of Lord Guilford, who was as always at his mistress' side.

"Your Highness," he said again, gathering himself. "The mission is complete. I regret to report that I was unable to apprehend Zero."

"Really? And why is that?"

"Your Highness, I was forced to accept his assistance in order to complete the mission. Major Kururugi will confirm it. I have failed you, your Highness." He had said the words.

Cornelia regarded him for what seemed like an eternity.

"As Homer once said," she began, "he serves me most who serves his country best. Had you jeopardized the mission for a chance to kill Zero, I would have snapped your sword over my knee." She softened, giving him that wry smile he knew so well.

"I am proud of you, Sir Alexander Waldstein, as are all my guards. The Empire is proud of you too, or rather it will be when it sees the pictures. You are beyond any question your father's son."

"Thank you, your Highness," Alexander bowed his head. "Your Highness, may I ask after Major Kururugi?"

"He was collected safely by the _Avalon_ a few moments ago," Cornelia replied, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. "Earl Asplund is in quite a state over his precious _Lancelot._" She did not say so, but she would have forgiven him anything for having outdone her brother's prototype.

"For now, Alexander, allow me to reward you on the Empire's behalf." She gestured with one hand. Guilford turned, and took a small box from the hands of one of the Royal Guards standing behind him. Alexander stiffened as Cornelia took a step closer, Guilford positioning himself perpendicular to them. The knight opened the box, revealing a cross of shining gold, over which was emblazoned the head of a lion. Alexander stood stock-still as Cornelia took the medal from the box, looped the crimson ribbon over his head.

"I present you this, the Lion's Cross, in recognition of your valour, and unswerving dedication."

"Thank you, your Highness." Alexander bowed his head again, and felt as if his heart would burst.

"_Alexander_," Cornelia thought, regarding him. "_I understand now. Never again will I send you from my side._"

* * *

_**Pendragon, Holy Empire of Britannia, October 2017 ATB**_

"He's on every channel! You'd think there wasn't any other fighting going on!"

Carline la Britannia, Fifth Princess of the Holy Empire of Britannia, was not as offended by the news as her words would imply. There was nothing she liked better than a good battle, and a good battle it had been.

Carline lounged against the back of the bed, her red hair spilling across the silk-lined pillows. The vid-screen on the opposite wall displayed the news report in spectacular definition.

"_Former Japanese cabinet member Atsushi Sawasaki is confirmed to have been captured, along with half of the Chinese task force. His Imperial Highness Prince Schneizel released a statement an hour ago that the Chinese troops will be repatriated in accordance with the Tibet Convention."_

"It's boring now," whined Dame Nena Trinity, her knight, perched on the end of the bed. "I want more pictures of Sir Alexander."

"There'll be plenty of those later Nena." Carline sighed inwardly. She knew Nena's appetites only too well.

"He's so _cute,_" Nena cooed. "And he fights like a total psycho. I like that."

"I don't think," Carline's doll-like face split in a sly smile, "your brother Michael would like to hear you say that."

"He _really_ won't like it," Nena said with a feline hiss, turning to regard her Princess through hungry golden eyes. Like her Princess her hair was bright red, but whereas Carline generally tied it up in high, flaring bunches, Nena let hers hang loose around her shoulders. "Because he and Waldstein are old enemies."

"_Really?_" Carline was intrigued. "Do tell."

"I will," Nena was suddenly coy. "If you play with me."

"Oh, _all right,_" Carline agreed with a long-suffering sigh. Nena giggled and stepped up, allowing her already undone trousers to fall to the ground. She slipped off her jacket also, until she was wearing only a dark red push-up bra and matching panties under a translucent pink negligee. She crawled up the bed, purring like a cat.

"So then?" Carline pressed, as Nena stood over her on hands and knees.

"Brother Michael got into a fight," Nena purred, "with Sir Alexander, at the Cadet School."

"Really?" Carline wondered aloud. "I heard he only ever had one fight at Colchester."

"He did, and that was it." Nena rocked from side to side, her ample breasts swaying. "Michael tried to push him around, and Waldstein beat the snot out of him there and then. He just can't let it go no matter what anyone says."

"I see," Carline mused. "You enjoy provoking your brother, don't you."

"It's not my fault he over-reacts," Nena protested mildly, pressing her body down against Carline's. "If he'd just learn to be strong and smart like brother Johann, he wouldn't have all these problems." Nena slid closer, purring.

"What about that other sister of yours, Mena Carmine?" Carline could not resist the provocation. "The one they call the _Wicked Witch of the West?_"

"Please, Princess," something flickered in Nena's eyes as she brought her face level with Carline's own. "Don't talk about her. It pisses me off." She blew in Carline's ear.

"Good God Nena!" Carline snapped, so harshly that Nena backed away. "What've you been smoking!"

"Nothing!" Nena wailed, hurt. "I just want to play with you. Because you're bored, and I want to make you happy."

"Nena…!" Carline restrained herself. "Nena…"

"Don't you love me?" Nena pleaded, eyes wide and watery. "Don't you want me to please you? Would you prefer a boy?" Carline sighed.

"It's not you, Nena," she replied, in as close to a reassuring tone as she could manage. Tenderness did not come easily to her, not even for Nena, the nearest thing she had to a friend.

"Then what?"

"I'm bored Nena," Carline admitted darkly. "There's nothing for me here but idle debauchery, not that I mind it. I keep asking Schneizel for a governorship, or for some proper training, but he just keeps smiling at me and telling me he'll find something." She scowled. "It's all mother's fault. She throws a fit any time I want to do something. She wants me to be a pretty little princess like Euphie."

"You're prettier than her," Nena soothed.

"Don't flatter me Nena, because it won't work." Carline knew she was not beautiful, not like Euphemia or some of the other princesses. Her face was unimpressive, her hair colour unfashionable, and her breasts stubbornly refused to get any bigger. She was no good at any of the pastimes her mother thought suitable for a young princess, and men paid her no attention. Nor was she kind like Euphemia, or sweet like Nunnally had been.

_Nunnally._

Nunnally vi Britannia, the cause of just about everything that had gone wrong with her life. Nunnally, against whom she was forever being compared, just because she had been born a month earlier. Nunnally, of whom her mother had been so insanely, mind-bendingly jealous.

"You're thinking about Nunnally, aren't you," Nena commented. "I can tell, because you're scowling like that."

"Even after all these years, she can't get over it," Carline went on, half bitter, half amused. "She wants me to outdo Nunnally, whether she's still alive or not, but she won't let me do it in a way that'll work. She won't let me play to my own strengths."

"I don't know why you put up with her." Nena eased herself up the bed to sit next to her. "You don't owe her anything."

"Of course I don't." Carline's eyes flashed. "If anything she owes me. If it wasn't for that little scheme of ours with Lord Whats-his-face and the diamond necklace, she'd be in irrecoverable debt. And you know how unsympathetic father is in matters financial."

"That was really fun," Nena grinned at the memory. "She should be more grateful."

"I just know I could achieve something with a governorship," Carline went on, allowing Nena to snuggle up to her. "If I was Vicereine of Area 11 we'd be rolling in money, and I wouldn't even have to skim much."

Area 11, once called Japan, was notoriously corrupt. A degree of corruption and profiteering by colonial officials was tolerated, so long as it did not get too far out of hand, but none of the other Areas could hold to candle to what had gone on under the late Prince Clovis. Sakuradite skimming had been the biggest scam, with participants appropriating as much as they could and cooking the books to hide the shortfall. Even a few bucketfuls of sakuradite ore could make someone moderately wealthy, or keep a Number and his family in food and protection money for a few more weeks. The many tons a decent-sized syndicate with the right connections could manage could set someone for life.

"But would you get to see any battles?" Nena asked, knowing her Princess' preferences.

"Of course I would," Carline smiled at the thought. "Ten minutes of me and the Elevens will hurl themselves onto the guns."

"Too bad Princess Cornelia's in charge over there," Nena commented, resting her head on Carline's shoulder. "And she'll certainly give it to Princess Euphemia when she's bored enough."

"Well then," Carline mused, as Nena began kissing her neck. "I shall have to find a way to…_remove_ her, won't I."

* * *

_**Ashford Academy, Tokyo Settlement, Area 11, November 2017 ATB**_

The Ashford Academy festival was quite an event.

It was easily the most open event in the whole Area. All comers were welcome, be they Britannians, Honourary Britannians, or even foreigners. It was an event where anyone could feel welcome and enjoy themselves. Since the event was run by a member of the Ashford family, it was guaranteed to be entertainingly bizarre. What was more, it had been three weeks since the battle at Kyushu. Students and teachers alike were in the mood for some fun.

The event itself was broadly similar in concept to the festivals held by pre-occupation Japanese schools. The path leading up to the main building was lined with stalls, constructed and manned by the students themselves, selling foodstuffs and trinkets of all conceivable kinds. The clubs held events of their own, showing off their skills to entertain visitors. Young couples tested their devotion in haunted houses. Girls and boys alike sampled the delights of the maid cafes. Well-to-do visitors applauded politely as the Equestrian club performed elegant dressages on well-groomed steeds.

But the centre of attention was the large structure being prepared on the front lawn.

It was a pizza oven.

It was a very large pizza oven.

It was enough to give Lelouch Lamperouge a headache. Just because a certain someone, not mentioning any names, had sent in a postcard suggesting that they make the world's biggest pizza, his job as organizer had gotten that little bit more difficult.

Make that a lot more difficult.

The one plus was that he could use the control booth whenever he wanted.

"Sorry about that." Lelouch relaxed in his chair, one finger on his phone earpiece. Safe inside the control booth, he could talk without interruption. "What were you saying?"

"Colonel Tohdoh has a list of targets inside Tokyo," replied Diethard Reid. "He wanted me to put them to you for your approval."

"I see. What has he got?"

"He wants to prioritize Haneda airport, the monorail hubs, and the railway facilities. There's also the TV stations, the Comm centres, and the Internet hub. He seems particularly interested in the airport."

"I'm not surprised. It doubles as a military airbase." Lelouch thought it through, picturing a map of Tokyo in his mind. The airport would indeed be crucial, and not just for the radar and communications. Any aircraft they could capture intact would come in extremely useful once Tokyo had fallen. The other resistance forces would need all the help they could get.

The railway facilities would be important too. The Britannians had maintained Japan's extensive rail network, using it primarily to move freight at low cost. Only the Elevens actually travelled on it, honourary and actual Britannians preferring the luxurious inner-city monorails. That made it possible to move large numbers of fighters and other personnel into the settlements and ghettoes covertly. It nonetheless made control of the system vital, for much of their heavy equipment, everything from knightmares to tanks to artillery pieces, was stored in the largely ungovernable inner prefectures.

Ungovernable to the Britannians, that is.

"Tell him to concentrate on the airport," he said. "It'll be easy to fortify. Also the Tokaido line as far as Shinagawa, including the yard complex. On that point, is there any word from Bolivar?"

"They've finished getting the Skirted Devils set up in Kanagawa and are on their way back."

"Very well." Lelouch glowered. He would have like for them to have spent more time training the notorious all-female militia. But his off-the-cuff statement about creating an independent state had pushed the schedule too far forward for that.

It was also the cause of his current, very stressed-out state. He could run a school festival with little effort, and planning a coup-d'etat in Tokyo would have been an interesting intellectual challenge. But both at the same time?

"Well also need Yoyogi, Nippori, and Akihabara stations" he went on. "We'll need Tokyo station eventually, but it's the best defended. We'll also need to check with our friends in ElevenRail. Unlike most Britannian officers, Cornelia _will_ think to blow the tracks."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Diethard replied. "But what about the communications facilities? Control of information will be crucial if we are to maintain momentum and damage Britannian morale."

"Put them on the second phase list. We'll take those as soon as our entrance points are secure. Then…" He trailed off as he heard someone fiddling with the door handle.

"I'll call you back!" he hissed, terminating the call as someone yanked the door open.

"LELOUCH!" It was Kallen. A very sweaty, very angry Kallen.

"Kallen." Lelouch tried and failed to sound charming. "Is something wrong?"

"Something wrong!" the redhead demanded, slamming the door shut behind her. "How about being trapped in that sweltering sauna of a haunted house for the past two hours!"

"How is that my fault!" protested Lelouch.

"Because I was getting boiled alive while you were down here in this air-conditioned control booth with its own water cooler, that's why!" Kallen loomed over him, her heavy breathing having a very disconcerting effect on her sweat-soaked blouse. "I smell like a sumo stable!"

"Would you…like some water?" Lelouch managed to ask. Kallen continued to glare at him for a few moments, then nodded curtly. Lelouch promptly poured her a cup and handed it over. She downed it in one glug, then thrust it out again. The process was repeated four times.

"You don't get it Lelouch," Kallen complained. "Because you don't take enough exercise. You never do anything physical if you can get out of it."

"I'm no good at things like that." Kallen glared at him again.

"What?"

"I don't get," Kallen groused, "how a weak, arrogant guy like you is friends with Zero."

"I…" Lelouch was momentarily taken aback by the question, even though he had already cooked up a watertight cover story. "He asked me not to tell you."

"Don't give me that!" Kallen pushed him, causing him to fall backwards into the chair. "I'm Captain of Zero Squadron! How can I protect Zero if I don't know!"

"Do you really need to know that?" Lelouch smirked. "Or are you just jealous?"

"Jealous!" Kallen roared, her face turning the colour of her hair. "Why you…!" She stormed forward, her foot catching in a loose cable. With a yell of surprise she toppled forward, landing on top of Lelouch.

There was a long and awkward pause. Kallen put her hands on Lelouch's shoulders and eased herself back, gazing down at Lelouch, who was blushing even more than she was. She suddenly realised where his head had been.

"Uh…"

Kallen was too mortified to speak, or to move, even as the door opened. Both turned at the sound of a gasp.

"Sh…Shirley!" Kallen gasped. For it was she, standing in the doorway, looking at them as if they had sprouted horns.

"I…I'm sorry…" Shirley whimpered, shaking like a leaf. "I…I didn't mean to…"

"Shirley!" Lelouch protested. "This isn't what you…!"

"I'm sorry!"

* * *

Shirley ran. She ran and ran, her face hot with embarrassment.

"_I walked in on them! I can't believe I just walked in on them! What must they think of me!_"

She didn't know why she felt that way, why she felt things that made no sense. She didn't even know Lelouch, and she didn't know Kallen all that well. What should it matter if the two of them were involved? Why should it upset her so?

Then, just when she thought she couldn't get any more embarrassed, she ran into someone.

Shirley cried out at the impact, and would have fallen had whoever-it-was not caught her in his arms.

For it was indeed a man. A young man, with curly black hair, looking down at her in mild surprise.

"Miss Fenette?"

The voice was familiar. Shirley gazed up into his face, with its bronzed skin. The eyes were concealed behind sunglasses, but when the man removed them, she knew for certain she had seen them before.

"S…sir Alexander?" She was stunned.

"Miss Fenette." Alexander bowed elegantly. "Please forgive me for startling you."

"I…uh," Shirley stammered, trying to gather herself. "Not at all, it was my fault." She curtseyed, that time remembering to clasp her hands in front, though the genuflection was still clumsy by the standards Alexander was accustomed to.

"Are you all right?" he asked, concerned as he saw what might have been tears in her eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh! Nothing, nothing at all!" Shirley's cheeks reddened, and she actually began to smile. "It was just…a misunderstanding, that's all. Nothing you need to concern yourself with, my Lord."

"_What's wrong with me?"_ Shirley thought. "_I was miserable a second ago, and now I feel like this? Why?"_

"Miss Fenette?"

"Oh! Oh!" Shirley realised she had been staring at him. "I was just so…surprised. What brings you here, my Lord?"

"I would prefer it if you called me Sir Alexander, Miss Fenette."

"Oh, Sir Alexander, I mean, we don't get many nobles here so…" Shirley trailed off, realising what she had just said. "But you're welcome of course! It's just that…!"  
"It's quite all right," Alexander reassured her. He did not feel at all comfortable in that place, and would have felt that way even without what had happened the last time. He was a noble in the territory of commoners. "Actually, I'm here on other business. Do you by any chance know where Sir Suzaku Kururugi is?"

"Suzaku?" Shirley glanced around. "Actually I don't. Lelouch has him working like a dog, so he could be just about anywhere." She didn't notice the look that crossed Alexander's face at the mention of Lelouch's name.

"I'm here with someone else," he explained, "who wishes to speak with him on a private matter."

"Oh, well the best place to start would be the Student Council building," Shirley replied. "I could take you there, if you like."

"I would like that." Shirley blushed again as Alexander offered his arm. She took it, and led him along the path. They did not walk with any particular speed, and Shirley found that she did not want to in any case.

"_This feels so nice. Walking together like this. Like…_"

She glanced up at Alexander, and saw him glancing furtively around, as if he expected to be assailed at any moment.

"It's all right," she said, realising in that moment why he was so nervous. "No one's going to bother you here. You're welcome." Alexander looked down at her, surprise on his face.

"Thank you…for you kind words."

"_His arm feels so warm_," Shirley thought, drifting into a world of her own. "_His eyes are so kind._"

"I should ask you, Miss Fenette, how you are coping," Alexander went on.

"I'm fine, really," she replied, and she was. The soul-shattering grief of her father's death had faded relatively quickly. What remained was a vague numbness, a sense of dislocation, as she adjusted to life without her father. But there and then, as he asked her the question, such feelings seemed as alien and distant as they had been before the tragedy.

"It's because you were so kind to me," she said, feeling the need to say it. "Everyone's been kind to me, but your taking care of me meant a lot."

"It was the least I could do."

She did not realise that she was resting her head against his shoulder until they had reached the main door of the Student Council building.

And saw Milly Ashford standing there.

And the look on her face.

"Sir Alexander!" Milly cooed. "So good of you to come. I see Shirley has been taking good care of you." Shirley wanted the earth to swallow her up there and then.

"Miss Fenette was helping me to find Sir Suzaku," Alexander explained, bowing.

"Yes, about that." Milly turned to a mortified Shirley. "Shirley, would you mind checking on the pizza oven? Oh, and you should probably rescue Rai from the maid café."

"Oh…of course!" Shirley bobbed a quick curtsey to Alexander before hurrying off.

"Ah…dear sweet Shirley," Milly sighed. "You should know, Sir Alexander, that she adores you."

"I…don't know what to say." Alexander felt curiously bereft. There were very few people whose company he truly enjoyed. He knew then that Shirley Fenette was one of them.

"In the meantime, come this way," Milly beckoned for him to follow. "There's someone you need to see." Trusting that Shirley would have warned him of any impropriety, Alexander followed her into the building. The Student Council building was rather grand, by the standards of a commoner's school, almost palatial. The level of ornamentation was not quite on the same level as the Imperial palaces, going instead for elegant simplicity. It was a place in which someone of his status could feel quite comfortable.

Milly came to a halt in front of a door, one that did not appear much different from any other. She put her finger to her smiling lips, indicating that he should keep quiet, then pressed the door control. She stepped inside, and Alexander followed her into what appeared to be a small dining room.

He hesitated when he saw Princess Euphemia standing by the table. She was still in her disguise, though she had removed her cap and glasses. Much of her body was concealed by what Alexander took a moment to realise was a high-backed wheelchair. Euphemia's eyes sparkled as she saw him, and like Milly she gestured for him to keep quiet. She nodded at the chair's occupant, and the chair hummed as it rotated on the spot.

Alexander's heart leapt into his mouth. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He felt tears pricking at his eyes.

She was older now. She had grown taller, her limbs long and narrow, her ash-blonde- running-to-honey hair cascading well past her waist. She wore the knee-length pink gymslip of Ashford Academy's Middle School. Her eyes were closed.

"Euphie you're teasing me!" Nunnally vi Britannia protested mildly, the sound of her voice making Alexander want to cry out in anguish. "Who is it?"

Before Alexander could say anything, Milly took Alexander's right wrist and held out his hand. Nunnally took it, holding it in one hand while carefully perusing it with the other. Her touch was warm and feather-light, reminding Alexander of her mother, a woman who had been as a mother to him. For a few seconds, for what felt like an eternity, Nunnally continued her examination.

Then she paused, her mouth opening wide in a smile of pure joy.

"Alexander?" She looked up, and Alexander thought for a moment that she could see him through her lowered eyelids. "Alexander Waldstein? Is it you?"

"Your…" Tears of joy streamed down Alexander's face. He fell on one knee, his voice hoarse. "Your Imperial Highess!"

"Alexander!" Nunnally flung her arms around his neck, drawing him to her. "It's been so long! I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Your Highness," Alexander almost whimpered, though he smiled. "Princess Nunnally."

Off to one side, Euphemia and Milly were both trying to dry their eyes without letting the other know they were doing so.

* * *

_**Somewhere on the Tokaido Main Line**_

"Is this line secure?"

"Yes. Are you travelling by train?"

"Yes, I am." Hamid smirked. "Cattle class unfortunately, but that's the way it goes."

The empty cattle truck shuddered, banged, and rattled around him. It was so decrepit, in fact, that he had been able to move between trucks by knocking holes in the walls. Judging by the slapdash repairs on those walls, it was common practice for those who needed to travel by rail yet could not afford the few pounds for a threadbare seat with half the upholstery missing. Like most of the organisations under the NAC's purview, ElevenRail had only two concerns; pleasing the Britannian authorities, and bottom-line profit, in that order.

The upside was that few paid much attention to those unfortunates who travelled in such a fashion. For him, and his fellows, it was most convenient.

"Something you need to tell me, Hamid?" Mr Hernandez' voice was as emotionless as ever.

"A couple of things. Firstly there's what Zero plans to do next. Secondly there's a little something on his identity."

"His plan."

"Okay." Hamid was only mildly disappointed. Hernandez was far too cool a customer to go for the bait _that_ quickly. "He's gone and promised his followers an independent state in Tokyo."

"And that means what?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I was pretty sure his goal was absolute national independence, and I'm completely sure it was _their_ goal too. I reckon he said it to turn his followers against Sawasaki. Either way, I can't see him settling for just Tokyo."

"Even Tokyo might be too much," Hernandez replied darkly. "What sort of forces can he muster?"

"A few hundred Black Knights under his direct command, allied groups numbering in the tens of thousands, and the bulk of the rest pretty much follow his lead, though he can't order or control them to any extent. I could count the number of groups who definitely _won't_ follow him on one hand, and those are either religious fanatics or pro-China."

"What's his plan?"

"He hasn't told me. I reckon his best hope's to get the groups elsewhere to launch their own ops while he grabs for Tokyo. If they can bring out enough people, they could tie up local Britannian forces for a day or two at the most. So long as the Tokyo garrison doesn't get reinforced, I reckon he could take the city. I don't reckon he could hold it though."

"Our information shows a surge in demand for sakuradite in all relevant sectors of Britannia's economy," Hernandez revealed sourly. "They're hopelessly addicted. A fifty per cent supply disruption would ruin them in the space of a year, far less if the stock market finds out. They won't let him get away with it."

"You're right." Hamid sighed. "That's the part I can't figure out. He must know that even if he kicks the Britannians out, they'll never _stay_ out. Unless…" He let the word hang in the air.

"Unless their forces are tied up elsewhere," Hernandez completed the sentence. "And he's hoping we'll be that elsewhere."

"It's either us or the Chinese. And they've shown their hand a little too soon. I don't think he's keen on Japan becoming part of the Chinese Federation though. Or why else would he keep my team around?"

"It can't be done, Hamid." Hernandez' tone seemed colder than usual. "If Britannia comes at us in full force, it'll be all we can do to hold them off. You must make clear that we don't have any forces to spare for him at this time."

"I'll tell him, but I don't think that'll change his mind," Hamid replied. "He doesn't care a fig if Europe burns, so long as it takes a million or so Britannian troops down with it. He's kind of a utopian, see? The good old EU's got a little too many…_compromises_ for his taste."

"I know the type. So what were you saying about his identity?"

"During that little bust-up at Kyushu base, I had Alexander Waldstein _and _Kururugi on the ropes," Hamid explained, that same mixture of frustration and curiosity he had felt at the time returning. "Zero was about to melt me if I didn't back off. You might want to check on Waldstein's background, see if there's anyone there that looks…interesting."

"That could be useful. Keep an eye on things for now."

"I'll be in touch." Hamid ended the call and checked the screen. There had been no noticeable signal interference.

He did not return to the other truck straight away. The others were in there, and they would only give him a headache. By the standards of his current situation, the empty truck was a quiet and peaceful refuge. It was a place where he could think.

His mind raced, the delicious possibility running around and around inside his mind. He was no longer angry, not really. It was simply too interesting, too intriguing, for anger to linger. Zero had been handed the chance of a lifetime to dispose of both Suzaku Kurururgi _and_ Alexander Waldstein, two particularly dangerous adversaries, and yet he passed it up. To Hamid, it made no sense at all.

No sense, that is, by his own standards.

It was something he was forever having to remind himself. Not everyone in the world thought and reasoned as he did. He fought for the satisfaction of it, and for material reward, scorning all other motivations as hypocrisy. Hypocrisy it might be, but that didn't stop being motivated by it. Others had convictions, ideologies, people they wanted to protect. They had loved ones, friends, spouses, siblings…

Hamid controlled himself. He caught the thought as it entered his mind, trapping it and crushing it before it could invade his consciousness. He didn't need to think about that. He didn't need to _remember_ that.

So what were those two to Zero?

Zero's interest in Kururugi was long-standing. He had personally intervened to rescue the knight from his Purist tormentors, even taking responsibility for the murder of Prince Clovis. He had blown a perfect opportunity on Shikinejima, preferring instead to try and capture Kururugi himself, and nearly getting a load of his followers wiped out when some lunatic in a Britannian uniform ordered a missile barrage. One mistake he could ignore. But two?

"_He cares about Kururugi_," Hamid thought darkly. "_He cares for that boy. He's willing to risk anything to bring him in alive. That's not worthwhile, not for research._"

There was no other explanation. It could not be that he wanted to find out why Kururugi was such a capable knightmare pilot, which was the logical explanation. He already had Kallen Kozuki, a devicer who was Kururugi's equal if not his superior. Not only was she a capable pilot, but she actually displayed the same seemingly-superhuman qualities as Kururugi, making her an ace of the same type as well as the same level. And if he wanted Kururugi because he couldn't risk Kallen in the research process, there were better ways of kidnapping someone.

Could it be that he wanted Kururugi to come to him of his own free will?

There would be advantages. Suzaku Kururugi was the son of Japan's last Prime Minister, and a hero to moderates among the oppressed Japanese. Getting such a person on his side would significantly boost the Black Knights' standing, granting them near-undisputed leadership of those Japanese who resisted Britannia.

As for Alexander Waldstein, he was not only a skilful soldier, but a chivalrous and honourable one. Zero was always going on about how the Black Knights were fighting for justice, not limited by nationality or allegiance of any kind. If he could persuade Waldstein to abandon his other loyalties in favour of his devotion to chivalry, then he would gain a powerful ally, and serious demoralize Britannia.

But Kururugi had made it quite clear that he would never side with someone like Zero, and Waldstein would never break his oaths. So all that could be done was to remove them from the military equation by killing or otherwise incapacitating them. Killing them would be the simplest option, which meant that Zero had some reason for keeping them alive.

"_What are they to you, Zero?_" he wondered. "_Why are they so important? Why can't you just kill them?_"

* * *

_**Ashford Academy**_

Crouched out of sight inside the _Britannia Crepe_ kiosk, Lelouch concluded that his day could not possibly get any worse.

It had been bad enough having to run the school festival _and _plan his next campaign. On top of that he had been caught in a compromising position with Kallen, by Shirley of all people. To make matters worse, they definitely did _not_ have the kind of relationship Shirley now thought they had, as the pain in his cheek attested. And on top of _that_, Euphemia had shown up, bumped into Nunnally, and later introduced Alexander to him.

About the only upside was that Alexander didn't appear to know that he was Zero, or remember what had happened at Narita. That hadn't made their meeting any less awkward, or any less nostalgic. He, Euphemia, and Nunnally had sat on the steps, talking together like old times, and Alexander had stood back, as he had always done back in the old days.

His heart had ached. He could not help but remember what had passed between them at Narita.

"_I wanted you to be my friend!_"  
He glanced up over the counter. He could see the _Ganymede_ clearly, Euphemia steadying herself on its open left hand. Media types gathered around the knightmare's feet, clamouring for a word or two.

"Are you okay Nunnally?" He looked to his sister, her wheelchair parked next to him in the kiosk.

"I'm all right. Hey Lelouch, guess what."

"What?"

"Euphie said that she and Suzaku were becoming very close now." Lelouch almost gasped. He never would have thought it possible. The Princess, and the Number? His half-sister, and his oldest friend?

"They make a nice couple," Nunnally went on wistfully. "Don't you agree?"

Lelouch didn't know what to say. His feelings were conflicted. Part of him felt violated, betrayed. Suzaku was supposed to take care of Nunnally, to be her knight and guardian so that he wouldn't have to. But instead he had chosen Euphemia, the sister who was his mutually unwilling adversary. He had bound himself all the closer to the Empire he had sworn to destroy.

But another part of him was overjoyed. To think that his dear old friend, who had suffered so much, who had lived a cursed life, could find true happiness with the half-sister he had never ceased to love, and maybe even respect. To think that redemption was possible, that dawn would indeed follow the darkness, that someone could be free even after everything that had happened. To think that in the two of them, his two worlds could become one.

To think his friend might become his brother.

For Suzaku was living a cursed life, that Lelouch no longer doubted. He had sided with an Empire that despised him, and had burned all his bridges. No other country would harbour him, and the superpowers would never trust him. Even if he had joined him, as Lelouch had so ardently wished, it would have changed nothing. There was too much bitterness, too much hatred, for the resistance to welcome Japan's prodigal son home. They would probably lynch him on the spot.

"I have a very important announcement!" Lelouch looked up again at the sound of Euphemia's voice. The time had come for her speech.

"I am Euphemia, sub-Viceroy of the Area 11 of the Holy Empire of Britannia." Her voice was high and clear. "There is something of great consequence that I wish to tell you all today."

"_Euphie!"_ Lelouch thought, panic-stricken. "_Is it you and Suzaku! Is it…?_" He had a pretty shrewd idea of what would happen if Euphemia announced her and Suzaku's impending marriage live on international broadcast.

"I hereby announce the formation of the Special Administrative Zone of Japan in the Area surrounding Mount Fuji."

"What!" Lelouch spluttered. What on earth was she talking about?

"Within the Special Administrative Zone of Japan, Elevens will be permitted to call themselves Japanese. Within this zone, there will be no restrictions for Japanese, and no special rights for Britannians." Her arms were held out wide, her face a vision of joy.

"It will be a place where Elevens and Britannians will live side by side as equals!"

"_Stop it Euphie!"_ Lelouch hissed mentally, willing her to be silent. "_I've already thought that scenario through! It's nothing but an empty dream!"_

"Do you hear me, Zero?" Lelouch's heart skipped a beat. "I don't care about your past, or who you are underneath that mask. I beg you, join us in creating this special zone of freedom!" There was muttering among the Britannians.

"Zero?"

"What about Prince Clovis?"

"Zero, help me build a new future within Britannia! A place for everyone!"

"Lelouch slumped to the floor, even as the Japanese outside cried out their approbation. He could not believe what he had just heard. He could not believe it would end that way, so suddenly, so senselessly.

Did Euphemia know what she was doing? Did she really think it would work? Was she truly that naïve?

The plan would never work. The Britannians living in the zone would never be able to treat the Japanese as equals. The best Euphemia could hope for was that they would all leave out of disgust or fear, giving the lie to Euphemia's rhetoric about living together as equals. It would become just another ghetto, with walls built of loving sentiments and gates fashioned from good intentions. Or worse, the Britannians would continue as they always had, even though it was suddenly illegal. Would they be punished for it? Would Britannians find themselves fined and thrown in prison for crimes that only a stone's throw away were perfectly legal? Would the authorities do it?

_Could_ they do it?

Or was that not her intent? Was she trying to prove something to someone? Was she trying to prove a point? Or was she doing it all just to bring him down?

Had he totally and completely underestimated her?

No. She wasn't doing it out of malice, of that Lelouch was certain. She believed she was doing it out of love. She believed that it would make everything all right, that she could bring back the old times, when they were all together. Her vision was madness, pure and simple.

But it was a sweet madness. A madness more beautiful than anything reason or logic could fashion.

To Lelouch's horror, he found that he wanted it. He wanted it so badly. He wanted to see the world change, for the wheel to stop turning. He wanted there to be another solution, a path to a better future that wasn't flowing with blood. He wanted to be himself, for Nunnally to be herself, to live in peace with her.

And never be Zero again.

"_You think you can take it all away from me!_" Anger rose within him, driving the sweet thoughts away. She was trying to muzzle him, imprison him, make him less than what he was. She was his _enemy_, and she had almost made him forget it?

"_Even if we could be ourselves, you know nothing! You understand nothing!"_ He gritted his teeth, eyes blazing as he stared up at her. She looked like an angel come down from heaven, bringing light to the darkness. A light that hurt his eyes.

"I am the terrorist who hides his face! And you…!"

He could never compete with her. He could never hope to rise above her, to outdo her. Everything he built, she could destroy with a word. Everything word she said, she could drown out with a smile. Every hateful thought, every dark desire, she could wash away with a scrap of kindness.

"_The past is dead and gone! EUPHEMIA!"_

* * *

Standing at the Ganymede's foot, Alexander gazed up at Euphemia. He marvelled at her countenance, at the way she seemed to shine in the sunlight.

She had done it. She had risen above the melancholy that had loomed over her since her arrival in Area 11. She had found her own place, her own path. Now she could step out of Cornelia's shadow, and do that which she was destined to do.

He had been sceptical about her plan. He could not honestly say otherwise. Even when she had mentioned his father, and how his work in Krugis had inspired her, he had been uncertain. Japan was not Krugis, and what his father had done from the very beginning, she was seeking to do after seven years of oppression and mistreatment.

Even he, the son of the Knight of One, could understand that. Even he could see that the Numbers were anything but happy, and that the Empire's treatment of them was anything but benign. He had treated it as an inescapable reality, something that he himself could not change, though it shamed him. He had endured Princess Cornelia's attitudes, her bigoted suspicion, her insistence that the Numbers had to be kept in their place, because he owed her too much to do otherwise. It was because, in a very real sense, he loved her.

But he loved Princess Euphemia too, his dear friend, and generous benefactor. He had pledged his support without hesistation, though she knew that his oath to her sister took precedence. She had promised she would never come between them, that she would never call upon him to choose between one or the other. She knew only too well the pain of such a dilemma.

Looking out over the crowds, seeing the Elevens cheering, thrusting their hands into the air, singing the praises of Princess Euphemia, Alexander began to believe that things would be better. Perhaps this would be the new beginning his father's work had heralded. If the plan worked, if it became possible for Numbers and Britannians to live together in something approximating to peace, then his fears would be dispelled, his nightmares driven away.

He need never fear the name of Soran Ibrahim.

"_Princess_ _Euphemia_," he thought, gazing up at her again. "_I am sworn to your sister, and must obey. But whatever else happens, whatever we have to do, my heart is with you always._"

* * *

**Well, here it is at last. I'm sorry this took so long, but I've a bad few months, so this took longer than I had hoped. I just hope that Alexander has gotten his fair share of awesomeness this time round, and there'll be plenty more in future. **

**Next time, Schneizel throws a grand ball to celebrate the establishment of the SAZ, and some blasts from certain people's pasts are invited. Secrets will be revealed, and plans will be laid. And Alexander will see his new knightmare. **

**Until then…**


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

_**Britannian HQ, Tokyo Settlement, November 2017 ATB. **_

"I trust, Alexander, that you realise what you have done?"

Cornelia had not felt so angry in a long time. The sight of Alexander Waldstein, standing emotionlessly to attention in front of her desk, somehow made it worse.

"I do not, your highness."

"You allowed Euphie to go to Ashford Academy," Cornelia hissed. "And not only did you fail to remove her from the grounds once she was exposed, but…" she trailed off, biting down her fury in order to force out the words. "You…_allowed_ her to make that speech. Do you have _any_ idea what that means?"

"I understand that his highness Prince Schneizel has given the initiative his full support, your highness."

"It _means,_" Cornelia almost spat, "that her _ridiculous_ idea of a _Specially-Administered Zone_ is now the Empire's official policy in Area 11! We have to follow through with it or else we'll look like a pack of idiots, or worse, _liars_! All because _you_ didn't stop her!"

"I have no excuse, your highness."

Alexander's face was expressionless, and his tone entirely level. But for some reason, it just served to make Cornelia even angrier.

"Damn you Alexander Waldstein!" she roared. "Are you _completely_ brain-dead? My _sister_'s lunatic scheme could tear the empire apart!"

"Respectfully, your highness, that is an overreaction."

"An _overreaction_ is it?" The fury was like a tidal wave within her, sweeping her inexorably along. "Do you _truly_ believe that this plan is going to work? Do you _somehow_ believe that the Numbers will accept the scraps from her plate and seek no more? Do you _really_ think that the public will have any use for this scheme?"

"There…is a risk, your highness." Cornelia could not help but notice the moment of hesitation. "But in all honesty I do not believe the Special Autonomous Zone will necessarily fail."

"Because of your father, no doubt!" she barked. "She told me so herself! She told me of how he _inspired_ her to do it!"

"I was not aware of that, your highness." Still he showed no emotion. It was driving Cornelia to distraction. Normally she could read his face and know what he was thinking, but now he was stonewalling her.

It was _galling._

"Your father has a lot to answer for, Major Waldstein," she went on, seething. "His little _experiment_ in the Middle East has set the empire on a dangerous new path. While I respect the right of the Knight of One to rule his fief as he sees fit, your father has imperilled the ideological unity of the empire."  
"I understand your words, your highness," Alexander replied. "But I respectfully submit that his decision was the right one." For a moment Cornelia was unable to speak.

"Would you care to explain yourself?" Her voice was as cold as ice.

"Your highness, it is my sincere and considered opinion that the empire cannot endure as it is." Alexander's voice was clear and strong, as if he were addressing the Emperor himself. "Britannian rule has sown unreasoning hatred among the people of Area 11, necessitating the use of military resources that could be better employed elsewhere. For every insurgent group we put down, another rises to take its place. We have engendered such fury, such hatred, in the Elevens that no amount of bloodshed, save their absolute extermination, will bid them stop their fight. I am not certain the Princess Euphemia's plan will succeed, or that it is the best way, but I cannot fault her highness for trying."

"Well, that was all very interesting," Cornelia sneered. "And where did you pick up that utter nonsense? The Cadet School? The Academy? I fear for the Empire if it was either of those!"

"I merely say, your highness, that my father has the Empire's best interests at heart in all that he does."

"Oh you do, do you?" Cornelia leaned forward, her eyes hard. "Well which is it to be? Are you for me, or for him?"

"Your highness?"

"Your failure in this matter, and that little speech, have given me reason to question your loyalties, Major Waldstein!" Cornelia went on. "So I will trust in your honour as a soldier and ask you up front. To whom do you currently owe allegiance? Is it your father? Is it my sister? Or is it me? You will answer!" The room felt very cold and tense.

"I gave my oath to you, your highness," Alexander answered. "Your will is my will."

"Really?" Cornelia could not stop herself, such was her anger. "And if I were to give my sister the beating of her life and send her home in disgrace, you would obey me?"

"Yes your highness." There was just a hint of emotion in his tone.

"And if I were to decide your father was a traitor and strike his head from his shoulders, you would obey me?"  
"Yes…your highness."

"Then you should have stopped Euphemia when you had the chance!" Cornelia snapped. "Enough! You may go!" Alexander snapped his heels together, turned, and left the office.

As his footsteps receded down the hall, something inside Cornelia snapped. With a shout of fury, she brought her clenched fists down on the desk with a crash. She slammed them down again, and again, grunting and growling as rage overwhelmed her.

She slumped in her high-backed chair, her fury spent. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily, her heart thumping in her chest, sweat running down her brow. After a few moments she opened her eyes again, only to see the portrait at the back of the office beside the door.

The portrait of herself, and Euphemia, and Alexander. The one Clovis had painted for them not long after Alexander had moved into Chalcedon Palace. The one she had chosen for that very spot, so that she could look up from her desk and remind herself of why she did what she did.

The image of Alexander's retreating back filled her mind's eye, and she remembered the look in his eyes as she had scorned and bullied him. There was no betrayal there, no anger, no resentment, for he would not hold it against her. There was only sorrow and shame, for in his heart he believed he had betrayed her.

Cornelia had to fight down the urge to cry out, to run after him and beg him to forgive her, to drive all thought of what she had said from his memory. All she could feel was a sick, soul-draining feeling of loss, as if she had crushed a butterfly or kicked a dog. She felt bereft, as if she had just lost something precious, something that could never really be regained.

All because she had been angry. All because she needed to take it out on someone. Someone who, outside of her own family, was the nearest thing she had to a friend.

Memories arose unbidden. She remembered the moment she first laid eyes on him, in his father's home at La Casa Pacifica. She remembered the times they had shared at the Military Academy, of how he had fought for her sake, suffered a beating for her sake, over her _underwear_ of all things. She remembered when he had lived with her, and Euphemia, and her mother, at Chalcedon Palace, and all that had happened in that time. She remembered the pride she had felt when he graduated from the Military Academy, with the white sash and the sword of merit. She remembered the battles they had fought, side by side, and the feeling of camaraderie that had come with them. She remembered the decision she had come to at the Kyushu base, never to send him from her side again.

It was a shameful memory, for she had betrayed him first. She had practically offloaded him onto Euphemia, determined that he should become her knight, despite all that they had been through together, and the oath he had given her, with his sword held over his heart. It was the one memory her heart would never let her forget.

Was a part of him hurt by it? Had he sided with Euphemia because he believed that he should? That he belonged to her now? Or was it just for the shared affection that had endured for so many years in spite of everything. Did that affection still extend to her? Did she have any right to miss him? To feel lonely when he wasn't around? Had she any right to complain about what she had brought on herself?

Cornelia li Britannia knew something of loneliness. To be lonely was not to be physically alone, for there had been few times in her life when she was. When she was young she had always been with her mother, or Euphie, or Andre, or those high-born girls her mother wanted her to hang around with.

To be alone was to be alone in spirit. It was to be not understood, to be not valued. It was to go through life without anyone ever seeing her for who she really was. Perhaps that was why she valued Alexander so much. He was probably the only person to have seen her and only her. He had seen the Cornelia li Britannia she meant to be, and had never questioned it.

Cornelia's thoughts darkened, her resolve warring with new questions that had arisen in her mind. _Why_ was Euphie doing it? What would make her do something so foolhardy, so dangerous? Did she truly feel so alienated, so unappreciated, as to do something like that?

But if that was all it was, then why were both Alexander _and_ Schneizel supporting her? Could they _all_ be wrong? Could even Schneizel be mistaken?

Or did he want something else? Was this all a part of some master plan of his?

And why was he going ahead, knowing what it would cost Euphemia?

She hadn't told Alexander anything about that, about what her sister had promised the Emperor in return for allowing her to go ahead with her plan. She had offered to demote herself from the Imperial family, to renounce her titles, rights and privileges, to become a common person. It was the ultimate trump card, the last resort normally used to avoid being punished for some terrible crime, or to avoid the fate so many Imperial princes and princesses suffered when the Emperor succumbed and the battle began.

Strictly speaking, she was no longer a princess. In a way they were no longer sisters. Before long it would be announced, and Cornelia might never see her again.

Why? By all that was noble _why_? How could she want something so badly as to give all that up? How could she just throw away that part of herself? Her destiny?

Was it for _him_?

Cornelia couldn't think of any other explanation. She wanted to be a commoner so that she could be with that…_Eleven_ she had made her knight. She wanted Kururgi, enough to throw away any chance of the throne.

Well it wasn't going to happen. Cornelia felt a thrill of determination as she knew what to do. She would contact her father and make sure the demotion was rescinded, that was assuming he had any intention of carrying it out in the first place. Euphie wasn't getting out of her destiny _that_ easily, Special Zone or no. Besides, the look on her face would tell Cornelia all she needed to know about her true motives.

She sighed again. She couldn't even talk to Euphie or Schneizel about it, at least not for the moment. Both would be busy planning the grand ball Schneizel was throwing in commemoration of the founding of the new SAZ. If she spoke to either of them now, they would almost certainly try to rope her into going. An evening spent flouncing around in a frilly gown was the last thing she needed, and those two would take any opportunity.

As if things couldn't get any more complicated, _Carline _of all people would be attending, along with several Knights of the Round Table. On top of that, Princess Marina Ismail of Krugis had contrived to pay a visit, no doubt to lend Euphie some moral support. This when Krugis had decided to throw its new-found weight around by sending its new carrier, the _Anahita_, and her battlegroup on a global tour. The one comfort of _that_ little complication was that the Krugisians had been considerate enough to include a shipment of their newest knightmares, about which Cornelia had to admit she was curious.

She had dispatched Major Aker and his team to meet with the battlegroup in Indonesia to take delivery. Having dealt with that, she had managed to arrange a 'surprise inspection' on the early-warning radar sites in northern Hokkaido, which would be enough to keep her away for several days. That would be plenty of time to think of how to sort things out with Alexander.

At least she hoped so.

* * *

_**Shinagawa Ghetto, Tokyo Settlement**_

Hamid was not in the best of moods.

It wasn't that he was particularly _angry. _It mattered nothing to him if the Black Knights got themselves killed, or merely faded away for want of relevance. He didn't care if Zero made the wrong decision and ruined everything, just so long as he wasn't in the firing line.

No, it was more of a low, lethargic feeling, as if his body had somehow failed to recharge. It couldn't be purely physical, for he had been on far harder missions without any such effect.

It was the Black Knights. There seemed little point in denying it. They had shown such promise, at least for a time. But they were finally showing their true colours.

Hamid had walked out of the staff meeting, unable to stand their bleating and wittering a moment longer. Outside, in the cool evening air, with the increasingly familiar stench of the ghetto wafting in on the breeze, he attempted to clear his head.

They would ruin everything. One or two had the right idea, but the rest seemed at last to be falling into the three categories Hamid was most accustomed to when dealing with such groups. Some were idealistic fools whose high-minded morals blinded them to what had to be done, while others were bloodthirsty psychos who professed to ideological purity as a cover for their love of killing. The one thing that united them was their disquiet over the Specially-Administered Zone, which threatened to deprive them of their support among Japanese moderates, but they could not agree on what to do about it.

Some of the more intelligent ones, like Diethard Reid, argued against interfering with the SAZ because doing so would alienate potential supporters. The idealists bleated that they could not fight fellow Japanese, though Hamid suspected that more than a few had allowed themselves to believe the pink-haired princess' sweet words. Some had even signed up for the farce. The psychos, by contrast, wanted to turn the opening ceremony into a bloodbath.

And there was no sign of Zero. No orders, no speeches, no nothing. All the while the Black Knights were being torn apart.

"Al-Saachez!"

There was also the third category, the ones who loved their ideals so much that they would burn the world to achieve them. He could hear her voice behind him, along with her storming footsteps.

"Al-Saachez!" Hamid kept moving.

"Al-Saachez you bloodsucker!" Kallen grabbed him by the arm. "Don't you dare walk away from me!"

"You got a problem with me, _princess_?" Hamid sneered, half-turning his head to regard her with one baleful eye.

"Don't call me that!" Kallen's eyes blazed, her face twisted in rage. "And I've got a lot of problems with you, _Satan's Sultan_!" Hamid was mildly surprised. He was prepared, of course, but he hadn't expected her to uncover that aspect of his wider identity _that_ quickly.

"I know what you are!" she went on. "I know what you did! In Krugis, and in all those other places! I know what you _are_!"

"Oh really?" Hamid turned to glare down at her. "You think you know who I am? What I'm capable of?"

"Every group you join," Kallen snarled, "every organisation you _help, _ends up getting wiped out! You _use _them up and toss them away! Was that your plan with us? Was that why the EU sent you?"

"Oh _no,_" Hamid drawled, amusement mingling with his anger. "That wasn't my mission at all. That…" his drawl became a hiss, "is my _hobby_."

"You…!" Kallen looked as though she was about to explode. "You…_sick bastard_!"

"Call me what you want, little girl," Hamid growled, his anger rising for reasons he did not fully understand. "I am what I am, and I don't see why I should feel bad about it. As I see it, people like them, like _you,_ are fair game."

"Why?" Kallen demanded, as horrified as she was disgusted. "What did we ever do to you? All we want is to free our country!"

"So you say!" Hamid hissed, his blood boiling. "So you plead! But you and I both know that you're no different!" He loomed over her, his stature seeming to rise with his fury. "You and I both know," he jabbed an accusing finger at Kallen, "what _you_ really are!"

"I'm a soldier!" Kallen snapped, half-proclaiming, half-pleading.

"You're a killer!" Hamid retorted, his voice hoarse with rage. "You _enjoy_ the battles! You _relish_ the final moment, the kill! I know!"

"You're lying!" Kallen protested. "It's not like that!"

"Oh yes it is! I know because I'm the same!" Hamid's nightmare face twisted into a demonic smirk. "And it takes one to know one, girly!"

"I'm not like you!" Kallen shrieked. "I'm not fighting for the fun of it! Or for money! I'm doing it because it's _right_! Because it's the only right thing I can do!"

"The right thing?" Hamid mocked, infuriated by her reaction. "So, you'll fight no matter what? You'll do anything to achieve your noble goal?"

"Yes! Anything!"

"And that is why you are no different!" Hamid roared in dark triumph. "I've seen what your kind will do to achieve their goals! You'll do anything, use anything or anyone, turn human beings into weapons, kill anyone and any number! All you can see is your damn cause!"

"Haven't you ever believed in anything?" Kallen snapped, all restraint gone. "Didn't you ever have a family? Didn't you ever want to make a better world for someone else? Have you ever loved anyone in all your life?"

"Yes I did!" Hamid roared. "Yes I did! And they're all dead because of people like you!" His words caught Kallen off-guard, the rage falling from her face, replaced by bewilderment and more than a little fear.

"All of them!" Hamid went on. "My parents! My little brother! And the only girl I ever loved! All dead because of me! All because somebody wanted to hurt me so bad that nothing else mattered! Nothing!" His eyes bulged, and his heart thundered. Kallen almost flinched, and something about it drew Hamid on. He _wanted _to tell her. He wanted to hammer it into her stupid, naïve, innocent heart. He wanted her to _know._

"My brother was only a baby!" he snarled. "But they burned him along with my parents and our house! He was so small there was nothing left to bury! But he had to burn! He had to die! They all did! Because I got in the way of their precious cause! They killed me because that was how they felt!" Kallen turned and ran.

"And you're no different!" Hamid roared after her. "No matter how far you run, or how hard you try! You'll be like them in the end!"

He stopped, breathing heavily, almost dizzy. For a long time he stood where he was, staring into the creeping darkness after her, as if his hatred could pursue her and torment her for all eternity.

"Well," came a familiar voice from the shadows. "That was a passionate performance." Hamid's lip curled in irritation as Rakshata stepped into the light.

"I take it you found that…informative?" Hamid asked, falling back into his customary hissing drawl. It was a poor cover for his embarrassment, for his feeling of having made himself vulnerable, but his anger was spent.

"Not really," Rakshata replied, stopping only a few metres from him. "As I told you before, I know a few things about you. Word on the grapevine is that Rasa Massoud Rachmadi was one of your hits. Not exactly your finest hour."

"No," Hamid replied testily. "It wasn't."

"One of the most revered men in all of Iran, and maybe the former Federal Republic," Rakshata went on. "And for something he didn't even do. That's enough to make anyone feel used."

"You have no idea." Hamid turned to face her head-on. "You have no idea what it is to have been someone's catspaw, to have killed an innocent man because the people you believed in told you to, and to wonder how many of the others were the same."

"Oh but I do, Ali Al-Saachez, or whatever your name is." Rakshata's tone, previously languid, took on a slight edge. "The children I gave birth to exist for one purpose, and one purpose only. They kill, and anyone can use them to kill, no matter what the reason. My babies are all weapons, and my babies are murderers."

"A kitchen knife is a weapon," Hamid snorted, unimpressed. "A string of beads is a weapon. Anything can be a weapon. Building a weapon can't compare to using one."

"Kind of you to say so." Rakshata drew on her pipe. "For it's worth, I understand something of what you're going through."

"I say you don't."

"It's a terrible violation, isn't it?" Rakshata's eyes were hard. "Almost like being raped. They drenched your hands with blood, stole away your innocence, your hope, all for some big idea. And you let them do it because you _trusted _them. Am I right?"

"Your point being?" Hamid was not in the mood.

"It's the reason why I joined the underground," the woman went on. "I got tired of having no say over the uses to which my technology was put. I wanted to create something on my own terms, something that would be used for what I wanted it to be used for, and nothing else."

"So much for that," Hamid retorted. "Once a weapon's been made, anyone can use it."

"You would know all about that wouldn't you," Rakshata commented, sounding almost amused. "You've jacked enough knightmares in your time. What was your reason?"

"Reason?" Hamid managed a smirk. "I like doing it. And if I can grind a few gullible terrorists under my heels, so much the better."

"And you don't see the contradiction in that?" Hamid did not reply.

"Look," Rakshata said with a sigh. "I agree with you up to a point about Kallen, but she's had a harder life than you realise. I don't suppose anyone told you about her older brother, the one was killed?"

"And I should care because?"

"She could have chosen to live as Britannian," Rakshata went on. "She could have done as her brother and the others wished, and lived a fun and happy life as Kallen Stadtfeld, with nothing more to worry about than exams and getting some boy to notice her. But she didn't. She didn't, at least in part because she believes in what her brother was fighting for. The fact that she can't quite let go, that Kallen Stadtfeld is as much a part of her as Kallen Kozuki, that she can't quite leave behind her young girl's feelings, is her contradiction."

"That's interesting," Hamid quipped sarcastically.

"As for you," Rakshata continued. "I think you hate people like her because you see yourself at that same age. They represent a part of yourself that you hate, so much in fact that you treat them with as little humanity or compassion as they show to their victims. They are the symbols of your own self-loathing, your personal _Jamarat_." She paused, and smirked.

"I think that deep in your soul you're trying to atone for what you did. By exploiting and killing them, you seek to expunge a part of yourself that you hate."

"Think what you will," Hamid retorted bitterly. "I am what I am, and nothing else."

* * *

_**Britannian HQ, Tokyo Settlement**_

"We shall arrive in fifteen minutes, your highness."

"Thank you Cyrus," Princess Marina Ismail acknowledged, as Cyrus Abdullah looked up from the intercom.

Except he wasn't just Cyrus Abdullah any more. The gleaming white uniform and dark red cloak, with the Imperial House of Britannia's crest embroidered in gold, reminded her of that fact. He was Lord Cyrus Abdullah, Knight of Two, the first non-Britannian ever to be admitted to the Round Table, Britannia's highest order of chivalry. A living symbol of how far Krugis had risen in the Empire's estimation.

As such, it was entirely appropriate that he should accompany her on her visit to Area 11.

"I'm still more than a little surprised." The other person present in the VTOL's passenger lounge was Shirin Bakhtiar, her personal advisor. Marina saw a familiar sparkle in her grey-green eyes, the sparkle that was always there when Shirin was scheming.

"Surprised, Shirin?" Marina cocked her head slightly in surprise, her long black hair dancing around her neck. Cyrus had already left for the cockpit.

"I never thought," Shirin went on, "that Princess Euphemia would be allowed to go ahead with this plan of hers."

"It's not so strange," Marina replied mildly. "Considering what happened with our homeland. It's just possible that the Empire is changing its ways."

"It's _possible_, your highness." Marina's heart sank a little. Shirin was using _that_ tone. "But you must remember, our favoured status derives entirely from Lord Waldstein's status as Knight of One, and the privilege he holds. To many Britannians our country is Area 7 and we are all Numbers."

"I understand," Marina managed to conceal her disquiet, "that Second Prince Schneizel has given his support. As the Chancellor, his power and influence are considerable."

"That is correct, your highness. In truth that fact also surprised me. The Chancellor is taking a significant risk in supporting the SAZ initiative, even for someone with his influence and prestige."

"Perhaps," Marina pressed, "he believes that the time has come for Britannia to change. If anyone can change the Empire, he and Euphie can." Shirin's narrow face, framed by chocolate-coloured hair, split into a smirk.

"I am gratified, _Shahzadi_," she said, "that you have no illusions regarding Britannia's nature. However I believe you have still not quite rid yourself of your naivete."

"Is it naive to hope for change?" Marina asked, a little hurt. "Is it truly foolishness to believe that the situation might be improved through honest effort?"

"Not entirely, your highness," Shirin admitted cautiously. "Your successes with the Kurds would suggest that you might be right. However, you would do well not to take anything at face value."

"I will do as I have been taught," Marina replied primly. "Observe every situation from all possible angles, then act accordingly."

"Your ability to see an issue from the other side's point of view is your particular gift, your highness," Shirin commented with apparent sincerity. "I believe it is the main reason why you were able to bring the Kurds in from the cold."  
Marina wasn't sure it was proper to say so, but she suspected Shirin might be right. It had taken her many years of constant, sincere effort to win over the Kurdish population, to persuade sufficient numbers of them to reject the ambitions of the separatists and accept their position in the Kurdish Autonomous Region of the Kingdom of Krugis.

It had not been easy. It had taken people and institutions on both sides to seriously reconsider their attitudes and positions. Many changes had been necessary, and even then many Kurds had been unwilling to give her the time of day, regarding her as just another reminder of subjection and denial. But because she was able to understand their point of view, because she could match words with deeds, she had gradually been able to convince them.

"It wasn't anything so calculating," she said, smiling at a warm feeling that arose within her. "It was something I learned from Euphie."

"And that was?" Shirin asked.

"If anything," Marina went on, "it was sincerity."

Marina remembered Princess Euphemia li Britannia, or _Euphie_ as she insisted she be called, well and with affection. She had been her first, and probably only, true friend during her time at Colchester.

Those had not been easy days, at least not at first. It had been her uncle the Shah's idea that she should attend the exclusive Colchester school, reserved for the children of Britannia's social, economic, and political elite. He believed it would help her to understand Britannians, or at least _those_ Britannians, with whom she might have to socialize and deal in the future.

It had felt lonely, to be so far from home. To make matters worse, the company that awaited her was less than welcoming. As a princess she outranked most of the other girls, but she was still foreign, and by all rights a Number. Their response to that dilemma had been to treat her with cautious, standoffish deference. Seeing little possibility of companionship, let alone friendship, Marina had not pushed her luck.

When she first encountered Euphemia li Britannia, she had not known what to think. The Third Princess had seemed on the surface to be a silly, flighty girl. She would weave flowers into her hair, smile at everyone, even talk to cats. When Marina first saw her, she had been climbing a tree in order to put a bird's egg back in its nest, while attendants and classmates clustered around the base of the tree begging her to come down.

They all adored her, of course, and Marina had not understood why. At least, not until Euphemia had actually noticed her.

Ordinarily she would have been suspicious of Euphemia's friendliness, even as the necessity of such suspicion pained her. But something in her manner, or perhaps her eyes, had _made _her believe in her sincerity. It had been so…_genuine_ that she found herself unable to refuse. She had been unable to resist when Euphie clasped her hand, or when she kissed her on both cheeks, or even when she had taken her by the arm and practically dragged her around the campus.

The funny thing was, the other girls had been noticeably nicer to her after that incident. Her time at Colchester had passed much more pleasantly as a result.

She felt the gentle shift in the VTOL's vector, the sensation drawing her from her memories.

"Are we approaching?"

"I believe so, your highness." Shirin smiled slyly. "Shall we see what the Britannians are saying?" Without waiting for a reply, Shirin picked up the remote and switched on the vid-screen.

"_I can see the Royal aircraft now, approaching gracefully over the rooftops of the settlement. The excitement in the crowds around me is almost palpable, for soon we will see the Princess of Krugis herself._" As the correspondent spoke, the camera panned over the crowds, who waited with all apparent enthusiasm. Marina could see the blue, red, and gold of Britannia among the flags they were waving, as well as the green, white, and red of her homeland.

"They seem quite enthusiastic," Shirin commented, still smiling.

"Now you've made me nervous" Marina complained mildly. She had been told that there would be a considerable turnout for her arrival, but being reminded of that fact had stirred up the butterflies in her stomach.

"_I can see the landing pad, where the Imperial delegation awaits the Princess' arrival_." The view had changed to show what appeared to be the landing pad at the Britannian occupation Headquarters in Tokyo Settlement. Marina could see a full honour guard, clad in red versions of the Britannian army's standard uniforms, suggesting that they were drawn from Princess Cornelia's Regiment of Foot Guards. The Princess was not present, but Marina felt warm inside as she saw Princess Euphemia, clad in elegant white and pink, standing in pride of place, and she almost giggled when she saw the two young men flanking her. One was a native of Area 11 judging by his appearance, almost certainly Suzaku Kururugi. The other was…

"Your highness," Cyrus said from the open door. "We are coming in to land."

"Thank you Cyrus." Marina put aside her surprise and curiosity as she readied herself for the trial that was to come.

"Shirin, do I…?"

"You look perfect, your highness." And, at last, there was some warmth in Shirin's smile, and Marina knew she meant it. She had chosen a blue and purple outfit in her usual style, and let her black hair hang straight. It was a look that had always gone down well before, and along with Shirin all her style advisors had insisted it would go down well with the Britannians.

Despite its new inertial-dampening technology, Marina could feel the VTOL float into position and begin its final descent. Calming her pounding heart and quieting her mind, she followed Cyrus out of the lounge and into the foyer. Her own honour guard awaited her there, the ten guardsmen of her uncle's elite Javidan snapping to attention as she took her place. She felt the slight jolt as the VTOL set down.

Marina saw Cyrus touch one finger to his earpiece, and a moment later the door slid open. The sound of cheering reverberated through the foyer, and it took a moment for Marina to accustom herself to it, as she had done so many times before. The guardsmen stechmarched out in twin files of five, rifles held across their chests, breastplates and helmets gleaming like polished mirrors in the sunlight. They halted upon the lift plate, and Marina saw her cue.

For all her preparation, the roar of the crowds was like someone beating a drum against her ears. As she emerged, flanked by Cyrus and Shirin, she heard the opening strains of her country's national anthem. What surprised her, as the lift plate began its slow descent, was the sound of singing to accompany it. Had Euphie really made such an effort?

_Shahan shahe maa zendeh baada_

_Payad keshwar be farsheh javedan_

_Kaz Ismail shod molke Iran_

_Sad rah behtar se ahde basetan_

_Az doshmanan boodi parishan_

_Dar saye ash asoodeh Iran_

_Iranian peywaste shodan_

_Hamvareh Yazdan bovad ouh wa negahban_

As the lift plate settled to the ground, Marina stepped off onto the scarlet-carpeted tarmac. In front of her was a positively radiant Euphemia.

"Princess Marina Ismail," she said, in her best formal manner. "On behalf of the Holy Empire of Britannia and all its peoples, I welcome you to Area 11."

"Princess Euphemia li Britannia," Marina replied in the same fashion, taking her proffered hand. "On behalf of my uncle the Shah, and of the peoples of our Kingdom, I thank you for your kind welcome."

The two young men had bowed their heads, but Marina could not stop her attention from wandering to the one on the left. The one with the curly black hair and bronzed skin.

Had she seen him somewhere before?

* * *

_**Shinagawa Ghetto, Tokyo Settlement**_

Princess Marina's voice, clear and somewhat deeper than that of Princess Euphemia, reverberated from the loudspeakers attached to the vast screens.

"_It is my fond hope that the new Specially-Administered Zone will mark the beginning of a new era for the Holy Empire of Britannia, and for all humanity. Through the lessons we will learn there, from the bonds we will form there, we will start on the road to a better future, a future in which there is peace, prosperity, and happiness for all._"

It was with deep ambivalence that Ougi Kaname stared at the distant screen.

He wanted to believe it, he really did. He wanted to believe that the Britannians could change, that Euphemia's new idea would bring about a new reality.

He wanted to believe that he and Chigusa would be able to live together in the special zone, with no one judging them for it.

It seemed impossible, and yet it was happening. Diethard's spies had confirmed that construction of the autonomous zone, located in the shadow of Mount Fuji, was in full swing and expected to be complete ahead of schedule. They had spoken of the sense of hope and optimism among the Japanese workers, and the others who had signed up to live in the zone. They all seemed to believe that it would happen.

Ougi understood their optimism, for it was based not merely on a desperate willingness to believe in a beautiful young princess, but on events he never could have predicted. Not only had Prince Schneizel, the man who was Emperor in all but name, offered his support, but Krugis too. It was enough to convince _anyone_ that the plan was going ahead.

But that still didn't mean it would work.

And it was killing the Black Knights.

Though he didn't want to believe it, the figures did not lie. While the Black Knights themselves had for the most part stayed on side, many of the outer circle and the allied organisations had declared in favour of the zone. To make matters worse, the proportion that had done so represented the moderate wing of that part of the wider resistance movement that was aligned with the Black Knights. If the defections continued, all that remained would be nationalists and hard cases. The Black Knights would become just another band of bloodthirsty marauders, blinded by hatred and bloodlust.

And there were the Europeans.

Ougi suspected that Zero would tell Task Force Bolivarto pack up and go home, for its services would no longer be required. Whether they would do so was another matter. The EU had sent them to evaluate and assist the Japanese resistance, so there was nothing Zero could, short of detaining or killing them, to stop Bolivar from trying their luck with some other group. He doubted that they would, for the simple reason that the Black Knights were the only force even halfway capable of being the ally the EU wanted. Like as not they would turn their backs on Japan and go home to fight their own battles.

There was little Ougi could do to persuade them otherwise. But there was one thing he could do while there was still time, the reason why he had gone round to the stores and taken two cans of tea.

As he walked between the old warehouse buildings, he marvelled at Britannia's apparent ignorance of what was hidden within them. He knew that the Black Knights had gone to considerable lengths to conceal their activities, but it still seemed ludicrous at times that so much could be kept so well hidden.

Most of the people he walked past, exchanged casual greetings with, were themselves Black Knights, though they did not wear their uniform jackets and caps in the open. To any casual observer, and perhaps even to some Britannian spy satellite or recon drone, they would appear to be any other pack of jobless, listless Elevens hanging around being a waste of good oxygen. And nobody gave information to the Britannians any more.

At least, not good information. Not after what Zero would pay them to provide the other variety.

Soon enough he reached his destination, what appeared to be just another old warehouse. It had indeed been a warehouse, a few years ago before the occupation, but now it served a new purpose.

He was about to turn the corner and walk through the entrance when he all but bumped into Kaguya Sumeragi. After a moment's panic-stricken pause, he noticed that Jacque Sant-Clare was with her.

And they were holding hands.

"Please excuse me, Sumeragi Oujou-sama." Ougi bowed. "But I was hoping to talk with Second Technician Tsuji."

"Funny you should say that," Kaguya commented brightly. "That's exactly what we've been doing. _Ne_, Jacque-chan?" At her words Jacque's face turned the colour of her skirt.

"He's right there," Kaguya gestured into the warehouse, then led a still blushing Jacque away. Ougi could not help but smile as he walked inside, looking around for Saji.

And there he was, squatting next to the red _Gekka_ prototype piloted by Louise Halevy, packing away his tools. Ougi was relieved that the loud-mouthed blonde wasn't around. He wanted to talk to Saji without interference.

"You thirsty?" he asked casually as Saji stood up. The boy turned in surprise, then calmed as he recognized him. Ougi gave him what he hoped was a friendly grin has he held out one of the cans of tea.

"Oh, thanks." Saji took the can from him. "It's been a while since I had this."

"I'll bet." It was going well so far. "Saji-kun, can we talk?"

"Sure." Ougi gestured for him to follow, and they headed out of the warehouse by the other door. Before them was a panoramic view of Tokyo bay, the Settlement buildings gleaming in the sun.

"I just want you to know, Saji-kun," Ougi began, suddenly a little awkward. "Nobody bears you any ill-will, not really." Saji did not reply straight away, but took a sip of his tea.

"Its okay, Kaname-san," he said in Japanese. "I understand why they feel that way. And they're right. I've lived safely in Europe for all these years, while you guys were fighting and suffering. I guess they've a right to be angry."

"That doesn't make it fair," Ougi insisted. "As far as I know you've been there since the occupation began, so you must have been, what, ten years old? You didn't have any control over what was happening to you."

"You're wrong, Kaname-san." Saji stared out into the bay. "I was only out of the country because of a decision I made. I only survived because of that decision. And it's because of that decision that I never came back to Japan."

"I can't say I'd have asked you to come back." And he was telling the truth. Ougi would not have wished Japan as it was on _anyone_ who had another option. "No reasonable person would have."

"And yet that's what I am," Saji replied sourly. "A _dog of the Europeans_. I don't feel that I am, but I know what people mean when they say it, and what they mean to say is true."

"I get the impression you're used to it." It was a risky thing to say, but Ougi found he wanted to understand Saji.

"I get it all the time from the refugees." Saji looked and sounder bitter. "They call me a dog of the Europeans because I joined EUROFORCE, a race-traitor because my girlfriend's European, and a sell-out because I got an education and a job."

"I see." Ougi did not like what he had heard. "I…would have expected better from fellow Japanese."

"All the minority communities have people like that," Saji added, in a tired-sounding tone. "It's not just the Japanese."

"That's a relief." Ougi made himself smile, hoping it would lighten the atmosphere. "But you didn't say what you were doing in Europe. I mean, if it's not a personal question."

"It's okay." Saji sipped his tea again. "I was at the International School in Brussels, on a scholarship."

"That's a pretty elite institution," Ougi said, impressed. "You must've worked hard to get a scholarship for it."

"It was hard work," Saji agreed, a certain energy returning to his tone. "But it was for my dream. My dream to go into space."

"Space, huh?" Ougi felt awkward again. "Not many people talk about space these days."

"That's why I wanted to do it," Saji went on. "When I was little I read a bunch of Aeolia Schenburg's books. He said that humanity needed to expand into space if it was to evolve, and he designed things like space colonies and orbital elevators."

"You mean, those things like towers going right up into orbit?" Ougi was on thin ice, but he wanted to keep the conversation going.

"That's right." Saji seemed to brighten, as if glad to have found someone to talk about it with. "He said we'd need three towers, all equidistant along the equator and connected by orbiting rings to keep them stable. If we did that, we'd be able to rig them with solar panels, and we'd never be short of energy again."

"Sounds impressive." Ougi did not have to sound impressed. He could see why such a concept might capture a young heart. "But to be honest I can't see it happening. Not the way things are no. Even that moon mission Britannia was planning a while back never came to anything."

"Like I said, that's why I wanted it so badly," Saji's tone hardened again. "The other kids used to make fun of me, and even my parents called me a dreamer. I decided to become a space engineer so I could change all that, so I could show everyone how great it is."

"Well, you could do worse than the International School," Ougi commented encouragingly. "Some of Japan's best and brightest went there."

"To be honest I was scared," Saji admitted, to Ougi's surprise. "After all that hard work, and all that waiting, I found I didn't want to go. It was like…someone had thrown a switch inside my head. My parents kept saying they were so proud of me, and my sister Kinue kept telling me how important it was, that I couldn't miss a chance like that. But I was still scared. I was only eight years old."

"That's only natural," Ougi reassured him. "But you kept in touch, right?"

"I did. The school's pretty modern that way. I got my own room with a vid-screen and internet connection, and all calls home are free of charge. I called home every night for the first month I was there, just so I could see and hear everybody. It made it easier."

"It must have been rough though," Ougi said sympathetically. "Being away from home for most of the year."

"I was lonely." Saji's countenance darkened noticeably. "I didn't know what to say to anyone, and my English was lousy anyway. And the other Japanese kids wanted nothing to do with me. They said I was an embarrassment, and I guess I was. I was lonely…at least until I met Louise." Ougi noticed the shift in his tone when he mentioned her.

"Yeah, about that…"

"I know what you're thinking." For the first time in the whole conversation, Saji actually smiled. "A girl like her and a guy like me? Well I was pretty surprised myself."

"So how did it happen?"

"She kind of forced herself on me." Saji's smiled actually widened at the memory. "She literally came up to me one day at lunch and demanded to know why I was sitting by myself. The next thing I know she's dragging me around everywhere and telling everyone we're in a relationship. I can't say I minded all that much though. I guess I was flattered."

"I know what you think of her, Kaname-san," Saji went on. "I know you think that she's loud and selfish and rude, but she isn't, not really. I know that better than anyone."

"I see."

"I was with her, when it happened." Saji's manner had shifted again, and Ougi knew that whatever he was remembering had haunted him ever since. "Instead of returning to Japan, I spent the first week of summer vacation with Louise and her friends in Spain. My parents said it was okay, since it was only a week, but…" He trailed off, gripping the can tighter.

"I was at her family's home in the Algarve when it happened." His voice was suddenly hoarse. "We were all supposed to go to the beach that morning. I… I didn't know what to make of it. I was so worried." Ougi couldn't bring himself to say anything. He couldn't think of anything worthwhile.

"It went on for weeks. Louise's family used their connections to try and find out…but there was nothing at all. A man came all the way from the embassy in Madrid to bring the news." Saji shuddered slightly.

"Do you know what it's like, Kaname-san? To lose everything? To feel as if the gods have cursed you? To feel as if you'll be alone forever? To fall into a neverending void, and then someone catches you?"

"Well…kind-of." Ougi was more than a little intimidated by the question, though not half as much as by the intensity of Saji's tone.

"Louise was the one who caught me," Saji went on, softening. "They all took care of me, like I was one of their own, but Louise did more than any of them." He paused, and opened his eyes. "She held me in her arms, let me sleep in her bed, stayed by my side the whole time. For a while I couldn't bear to be away from her, because when she was with me, I could believe that I wasn't really cursed, that I wasn't alone." He sighed.

"I'm sorry." And Ougi meant it. "I lost my family too, so I know something of how that feels. If there had been someone like that," he tried to ignore the visions of a scantily-clad Chigusa, "there's not a thing I wouldn't do for her."

"I made a promise," Saji said, with conviction. "I went to her family vault on a moonlit light, and I promised my family's spirits and the ghosts of her ancestors that I would repay her no matter what. I promised I would be by her side no matter what it cost me, so that when the day came that she needed me, I would be there for her." For the first time, Saji looked Ougi in the eyes. "I won't break that vow. Not for Japan, and not for anyone." Ougi was momentarily taken aback, and he hurried to choose his words.

"You wouldn't be a man if you did," he said gravely. "Let alone a Japanese man. Your parents would approve."

"You think so?" Saji looked surprised, and a tad hopeful.

"I know so," Ougi insisted. "So don't let it grind you down."

"_I know what my parents would say_," he thought, somewhat awkwardly. "_They'd tell him to hurry up and marry her so they can carry on the line._"

* * *

_**Prince Schneizel's residence, Tokyo Settlement**_

It was a warm evening, despite it being late in the year, with a cool breeze to make it perfect.

The grand mansion was fully illuminated for the event. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, glittering like clusters of stars. Within the vast ballroom, guests stood here and there in small groups, while others moved here and there between them. All were richly dressed, some in military dress uniforms, others in elaborate suits or flowing gowns. The orchestra, located in their alcove on the upper floor, serenaded the guests with elegant music.

It did little to sooth Alexander's mood.

He had not really wanted to go. He had only gone because Euphie wanted him to, and because _noblesse oblige_ demanded it. It was not only that he had turned down so many invitations already in favour of his duties, but because it was Second Prince Schneizel who was giving the ball. He had no desire to offend the Chancellor of the Empire by failing to show up.

Besides, he could hardly go to Hokkaido with Princess Cornelia, not after he had displeased her so.

The sadness he felt at the wedge between them was lessened as he looked down at his companion. Euphie had promised him a partner for the evening, and that she would be someone who wouldn't embarrass him.

"Are you all right, Miss Fenette?" he asked gently, for she had not said anything for some time.

"Oh, I'm fine, really." Her cheeks reddened as she smiled up at him. "I'm sorry…I haven't been the best company have I."

"Not at all, Miss Fenette. I find your company most pleasant."

"Oh…" Shirley's face flushed. "Sir Alexander…"

She was quite beautiful, Alexander had to admit. Her makeup was so skilfully applied that he could barely make it out. Her green gown was modest, yet fitted her well enough to be interesting. Her necklace, which he suspected was a loan from Milly Ashford, was tasteful enough to ornament her without being garish. Her auburn hair hung long and straight, with a braid around the back of her head, decorated with a ribbon. She would have been quite acceptable in the Imperial Court, and was actually more tasteful in her appearance than some of the Emperor's consorts.

But it was not those things that made her beautiful. Seeing her as she was had convinced him of that. It was something inside her, something pure and bright, like Euphie. He had heard that the natives placed great stock in what one could see in another's eyes, and Alexander thought there must be some truth to it.

"I really shouldn't be here," Shirley said mournfully. "I'm…I'm not important like you."

Alexander's heart sank. Here was proof that he really knew nothing about women. He had no idea of what to say to her. Everything he could think of, all the things he had been taught to say, seemed somehow stilted and hollow.

"Miss Fenette," he gave he what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "You _were_ invited."

He kicked himself mentally. He had sounded pathetic.

"I know," Shirley replied. "And it's an honour, really. But…"

"Miss Fenette," he tried again. "You could not have gotten in here without an invitation. That's enough for them." Shirley seemed to accept his reassurance.

"Sir Alexander! Shirley! I see you've found each other!" Both looked up to see Milly Ashford approaching, a young man with brown hair tied in a ponytail on her arm. She was in blue, and looked far more at ease than Shirley felt.

"Miss Ashford." Alexander bowed. "Good evening."

"And good evening to you." Milly shot him a flirtatious smirk. "By the way, this handsome devil here is Billy Katagiri," she gestured to her companion. "A perfect gentlemen whom I met in a coffee shop this morning. Were it not for him, I would have been forced to come with _Lloyd_." She gestured with her chin to the left. Alexander glanced in that direction and saw Lloyd a short distance away, engaged in a rather animated conversation with one of the girls from Ashford Academy. Alexander felt a jolt in his stomach as he recognized her from _that_ incident, except this time she was wearing a pink gown rather than tweed, and had let her black hair hang loose around her shoulders. He wasn't sure, but he thought he remembered someone call her _Nina_.

"But, isn't he your fiancée?" Shirley asked, unnerved at the thought of her friend becoming involved in a love triangle involving an Earl. It might not end well.

"Exactly!" There was a twinkle in Milly's eyes. "My fiancée, not my husband."

"Womanizing are we, Sir Alexander?" A confident female voice interjected. Alexander looked up to see a woman older than herself approaching them with a look of sly amusement. She had long grey hair, her pale skin covering a body long of limb and ample of bosom, clad in a figure-hugging purple gown. She had Rai on her arm, wearing his army dress uniform, and looking a tad sheepish. On the other side was a young woman with curly brown hair down to her shoulders.

"Lady Enneagram," Alexander bowed. "I trust you are enjoying the event?"

"Very much so," Nonette Enneagram was in full bloom in more ways than one. "Rai has told me all about you, Miss Ashford, and you Miss Fenette," she acknowledged the two girls in turn. "But you have the advantage of me, young man," the last she directed at Billy.

"Billy Katagiri," Billy introduced himself. "I'm here at Milly's request."

"How very melodic," Nonette quipped. "Oh, but where are my manners. I should introduce my friend here." She gestured at the young woman accompanying her, who held out a hand to Alexander.

"Mena Carmine," she introduced herself with easy confidence.

"Mena is one of the bright young things I've been working with in Krugis," explained Nonette proudly. "We've created some wonderful things together. I thought it would interest you in particular Alexander."

"You did, my lady?"

"The people of Krugis have wanted to express their gratitude for all the help your father has given them," Mena explained. "As such, the first batch of our latest creation has been dispatched along with the _Anahita_ and her task force for the goodwill tour."  
"If so," Alexander replied. "They should be reaching the Straits of Malacca about now. Will the battlegroup be paying Area 11 a visit?"

"It will indeed. But I understand Vicereine Cornelia is impatient to receive the new knightmares, so she has sent an old comrade of yours to collect them. A…Major Graham Aker?"

"I see." Alexander had not been told of any such thing. It was unwanted reminder of just how out of favour he was.

"I would say more," Mena's countenance had darkened suddenly. "But I fear a complication is coming your way. With your permission, Lady Enneagram?"

"Of course, Mena dear." Mena made to walk away, then leaned towards Shirley as she passed.

"Nice catch," she whispered, then strode away with a grin. Shirley's face turned red, and Alexander felt himself blushing too. Milly and Nonette shot them identical vulpine smiles.

"I wonder what she meant by that?" Billy said.

"A _royal_ complication," Nonette replied, then suddenly brightened. "Your _highnesses_!" Alexander caught the cue immediately, and bowed along with the others to the approaching group.

In the centre of the group were Princess Euphemia and Princess Marina, walking arm in arm, with Suzaku behind them in full dress uniform. Prince Schneizel towered over them, wearing a regal smile on a face very reminiscent of that of his father the Emperor. With them was a shorter, younger girl with red hair tied in horn-like bunches, whom Alexander recognized after a moment as Princess Carline la Britannia, the Fifth Princess, accompanied by another red-haired girl of about the same age wearing a similar uniform to Suzaku. Behind them were no less than three Knights of the Round Table, easily recognizable by their coloured cloaks. Luciano Bradley, the Knight of Ten, whose cloak was orange. Johann Trinity, the Knight of Eleven, whose cloak was bright red. The third he recognized as Cyrus Abdullah, the new Knight of Two, whose cloak was dark red.

Alexander could feel Shirley clinging to his arm as he straightened up. He could not blame her, for she could have been half as nervous as he was.

"Lady Enneagram," Schneizel greeted Nonette warmly. "So good to have you here."

"A pleasure as always, your highness," Nonette replied fulsomely. "And what a venue!"

"And Miss Ashford," Schneizel turned his attention to Milly. "Euphie tells me you provided the young ladies for this evening. I must complement you on some fine choices."

"We do our humble best, Chancellor."

"Alexander," Euphemia interjected. "You weren't properly introduced before, so I'd like you meet my dear friend, Princess Marina Ismail."

"I'm honoured, your highness." Alexander bowed again.

"Marina, this is Sir Alexander Bismarck Waldstein, Viscount San Clemente. He's a Major in my sister's guards."

"Waldstein?" Marina asked. "Are you related to Lord Bismarck Waldstein?"

"He is my father, your highness." Alexander took in all that he saw. The Princess was clad in a gown similar to the one Euphemia was wearing, but blue instead of pink. There was warmth and sincerity in her eyes, and her voice had a soothing quality to it.

"I see." Marina seemed enthused. "I should have known. You look so much like him."

"I happen to agree," Carline commented, speaking for the first time. "He is his father's son in more ways than one. Is that not right, Lord Johann?"

"We of the Round Table concur, your highness." Johann Trinity had bronze skin and green hair oiled down. He gave Alexander a languid smile, but there was something about it that set him on edge, something insincere. "Our fellows asked us to congratulate the young Sir Alexander on his earning the Lion's Cross. Outdoing the _Lancelot_ did not go unnoticed either." He shot a glance at Suzaku, who pretended not to hear him.

"The Round Table does me honour," Alexander replied. That same medal hung proudly at his throat.

"We've been following your career with great interest," added Luciano Bradley. His orange hair was spiked up straight, his eyes were narrow and malign. His grin put Alexander in mind of some undersea predator. "We've agreed among ourselves that if your career continues on its current path, the only honourable response would be to admit you into our ranks, lest our prestige wither in your shadow."

"You honour me too much, Lord Bradley." Alexander was not sure how to react. To become a Knight of the Round Table was an honour beyond imagination, but he could not be sure whether Bradley meant it sincerely, or whether he was mocking him.

"Lord Luciano is right," Johann cut in, wearing that same insincere smile. "It would be a fine thing for all Britannians," his eyes flickered towards Suzaku, and also Cyrus, "if the son of the Knight of One were to join his father at the Round Table."

Alexander felt their eyes upon him. He was growing more than a little tired of being grilled.

"If his Majesty should see fit to bestow that honour upon me," he replied, with all the gravity he could muster. "It will be through my honest efforts, as his Majesty sees fit to recognize them." He eyed Lord Johann. "I need no patronage from my father, nor from anyone save our Emperor, and my Princess." There was a pause.

"Well spoken, Sir Alexander." Schneizel's reply was perfectly timed, and given with his customary smile.

"He has the measure of you, Lord Johann," Carline commented, apparently amused. "And you, Lord Luciano. But what of you, _Lord _Cyrus?" Alexander could not help but notice the slight stress on his title. His face expressionless, the black-haired Cyrus Abdullah took a moment to reply.

"Sir Alexander's sentiments are also my own, your highness."

"How like you, Cyrus," Nonette commented with a sigh of feigned resignation. "For you, conversation is something that happens to other people."

"I am of few words, Lady Nonette," the taciturn Krugisian replied.

"Don't I know it!"

"Oh my!" Euphemia suddenly proclaimed, as if trying to change the subject. "Is that Nina? And Earl Asplund?"

"Why yes it is?" Milly replied on cue. "Shall I fetch them?"

"By all means!" Milly bobbed a quick curtsey and headed off in their direction.

"If it does not offend you, Miss Fenette," Marina spoke up all of a sudden. "Might I have a word with Sir Alexander in private?"

"Oh…" Shirley seemed taken aback.

"Don't worry," Euphemia reassured her. "Marina isn't going to do anything improper. But don't keep him for long, Marina. The dancing will start soon."

"I won't, Euphie." Alexander paused, uncertain of what to do about Shirley. He didn't want to simply abandon her.

"Will you excuse me a moment, Miss Fenette?"

"It's okay, really," Shirley replied, smiling shyly. Alexander bowed to her, then headed out through one of the side doors with Marina. He followed her down the corridor, until the music was barely audible. Marina came to a halt beside a tall window, through which the settlement buildings glittered in the near distance.

"The matter I wish to discuss," Marina began, gazing out of the window, "is to do with your father."

"Your highness?"

"I have met your father many times." Marina's tone was regal, and entirely unreadable. "He has treated my uncle and myself with the utmost courtesy, despite our _unique_ arrangement."

"You do not approve, your highness?"

"Please do not misunderstand me." Marina turned to face him. "I value the bond that now exists between my country and Britannia. Were it not for your father, the civil war might have been far worse. It is about your father that I wish to ask you."

"What do you wish to know, your highness?" Alexander's curiosity was piqued.

"Many can tell me about your father, the Knight of One," Marina went on. "But only you can tell me about your father as a man. To the best of my knowledge you are the only person aside from the Emperor who ever knew him personally."

"I fear you may be correct, your highness," Alexander replied cautiously. "The only other I can think of is the late Empress Marianne, who was my benefactor." He felt a twinge of an old sorrow at the memory of her.

"Yes," Marina agreed. "I understand she took care of you for many years. You must miss her terribly." Her tone was sympathetic, her eyes sincere.

"She was like a mother to me." Alexander managed to keep down the lump threatening to rise in his throat. "But what do you wish to know of my father?"

"I fear I do not understand him," Marina went on, taking the hint. "I wonder if you could tell me what sort of man he is." Alexander thought for a moment.

"I fear he is not an easy person to understand, your highness." It was a disconcerting thought, but Alexander could not deny that there were many things he himself did not know about the man who had become his father. "He is a man very much of his own mind, following his own instincts insofar as honour will allow."

"They he obeys the Emperor?"

"I would say that he will never _disobey_ the Emperor, your highness. He has always acted in accordance with Britannia's best interests as he sees them."

"I see." Marina paused, and Alexander wondered what she was thinking. "For all my gratitude, I cannot easily see why he would save us."

"Your highness?"

"You must understand, Sir Alexander." Her gaze was piercing. "It was utter desperation that drove us to seek Britannia's protection. Your father could have taken us for everything we had. He could have made us Numbers, covered our land in settlements, robbed us of our resources. But he did not do so. He chose instead to exercise his privilege and make our land his personal domain. He could dictate our laws, but he left our laws in place. He could control all, but he controlled nothing. He had the right to govern, but allowed us to govern ourselves."

"And you do not understand why," Alexander concluded.

"It was Euphie's plan that really made me wonder," Marina continued. "Did he do it merely because he thought it to be in the Empire's long-term interest? Was he truly trying to change things? Or was it something else?"

"I have no doubt, your highness, that my father believed that he was acting for the good of the empire," Alexander replied. "Others…disagree." A vision of Cornelia's angry face invaded his mind's eye, and he felt sick inside.

"Was he…a kind father?" Alexander was taken aback.

"I…have no basis for comparison, your highness."

"Part of me believes that a part of him is kind," Marina explained, and there was a strange look in her blue eyes. "Sir Alexander, did he ever tell you of the night the war ended?"

"No, your highness."

"That night, he found a young boy in the streets outside the palace, wounded in a brawl. I only saw him for a moment, in Lord Bismarck's arms as he brought him inside. That little boy's name was Soran." Alexander felt as though a spear of ice had run him through.

"Did he ever mention it to you?" Marina pressed, looking straight at him. Alexander felt his heart pounding.

"It's just that I'm sure I met you somewhere," she went on, staring into his eyes. Then all of a sudden she brightened.

"You _are_ Soran!" she proclaimed. "That little boy was you, wasn't it!"

Alexander could not move, nor could he speak, or even think. A deranging panic gripped his mind.

"Your…your highness is mistaken!" he blurted out eventually. Was this it? Was this the end of the deception that was his life?

"No! I'm sure of it!" Marina insisted, apparently overjoyed. "There's no other explanation!"

"Your highness is mistaken!" Alexander almost snapped. How could she ruin everything now? How could she say such things aloud? Did it mean so little to her? Did she even realise that she was ruining his life?

Anger flooded through him, mingling with the fear and subsuming it. He felt something rise within him. He clung to it for safety.

"Your highness!" he barked, so forcefully that Marina flinched. "I cannot endure this! Were it not for your rank and your sex, I would call you out!"

"But…!"

"I will not hear of it madam!" Alexander rode the wave, letting the fury carry him on. "Scorn and insult me all you wish! But you slander my father for the procurer of a changeling, despise my Emperor for a perjurer, and libel my Princess for a fool! I will not brook this madam! I will not!"

"I…!"

"Enough madam!" The rage empowered him, strengthened him, bearing him high above his inhibitions. "If you would stand by these accusations, then present your evidence in open court! Or else send your champion to me, and let fate be the judge of it! But whisper no more madam, if there be honour or grace in you! Accuse me with dignity, or else be silent!" Before Marina could say another word, he turned on his heel and stormed off down the corridor, his footfalls like thunderclaps in his ears.

So great was his rage that he did not notice Shirley Fenette hiding in a doorway.

* * *

Shirley couldn't believe what she had just heard. Alexander Waldstein was really a Number? A changeling? It seemed impossible, absurd.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and would have squeaked in surprise had Mena Carmine not put a quick hand over her mouth.

"So," the older woman commented dryly. "You heard all that."

"It's…it's totally crazy!" In her shock Shirley fell back on her normal speech pattern. "It can't be true! It just can't!"  
"What you just overheard," Mena explained in a sly tone, "was a misunderstanding that could lead to…complications."

"But then, shouldn't we go after him?" Shirley glanced after Alexander, who had turned a corner and was out of sight. "I mean, if it was just a misunderstanding…"

"I advise against it, my dear." Mena gave her a patient look. "I've known enough men in my time to know their moods, and if you go after him now you'll only provoke him. He'll cool off in a few minutes, assuming he doesn't just leave."

"Leave? But…"

But what? But they were supposed to dance? But he was supposed to be her partner for the night? But he was supposed to have some kind of feelings for her?

Shirley looked down at herself, at the gown Milly had insisted on buying for her, which pushed up her already considerable bosom and made her feel immodest, at the silver and diamond necklace Milly had fastened around her neck despite her protests, at the fan on which _his_ name was written.

She felt _ridiculous_. It didn't matter how _beautiful_ they claimed she looked, or how Milly _insisted_ that no one was going to pick on her, or how _chivalrous_ Alexander supposedly was. It didn't make her any less of what she knew she was.

A fake. An upstart. An intruder.

"I guess…he's not gonna hang around," she said, self-pityingly. "Not for someone like me."

"Don't say that." Mena's tone was firm, though by no means unkind. "You're as good as anyone here."

"But…"

"Do you think I was born in a house like this?" Mena asked manner-of-factly. Shirley faltered, unable to answer.

"I came from not a whole lot," Mena answered for her. "So did half the women in here. They didn't get where they did by running away or letting people upset them."

"But…" Shirley protested, faltering as she chose her words. "I'm not trying to…you know…!"

"I know, but my point is you can't let them intimidate you." She paused a moment. "When I was your age, people like them had no time for me _at all. _Then Prince Schneizel saw my work, and the next thing I know I'm working for a huge project in Krugis, my salary's in seven figures, and I get invited to all the best events. If I let these guys get me down, I wouldn't have gotten anywhere. You can't let a chance like this pass you by."

"It's not…I mean…" Shirley's face was red. "It's not like that!"

"You sure?" Mena's smirk was the dirtiest Shirley had ever seen.

* * *

Alexander stood by the fountain, fists and teeth clenched. Despite the cold night, the underground heaters warmed his body, in contrast to the icy breeze on his face. It did nothing to relieve his temper. Whereas once he had been afraid, now he was merely angry. The empyrean fire that had driven him to such achievement, so many victories, had blazed into an inferno of fury.

The whole night. The whole damned night! Nothing but one trial after another, culminating in some naïve foreign princess ruining his life. For his life was ruined, of that much he was certain. Marina would surely tell Euphemia, and she in turn would tell Cornelia. He knew only too well how his Princess felt about Numbers and their place in the Britannian hierarchy. She would not be his Princess much longer, not when she knew the truth.

Alexander's mind was assailed with the image of her face, twisted in the same fury he had seen only days earlier. He could almost feel the sting of her striking him across the face, and tearing the medal from his throat.

The vision fuelled his rage. She would scorn him, despise him, cast him aside like an old rag. After everything they had been through, everything they had shared, all that he had done for her, she would rid herself of him.

Alexander cursed her. He cursed her bigotry, which had always been there, and the ingratitude he knew was coming. He cursed Euphemia for making a fool of him, and for dragooning him into attending the damned ball. He cursed Cornelia for taking it out on him. He cursed Marina Ismail for not keeping her damned mouth shut. He cursed the rest of them for treating him like a performing monkey.

And he damned Lelouch for being right.

What could he do? He could not stay in the Britannian territories, not disgraced as he was. He had no intention of going over to Lelouch, no matter what had passed between them. Come to think of it, there was no way he could remain in the Empire, not when the truth had finally come out. He would be welcome nowhere, wanted nowhere. He was too well known for the revelation to be ignored, and had risen nowhere near high enough for it to be swept under the carpet.

His life in Britannia was effectively over. He could not ask his father to protect him, not after what he already cost him. Lady Marianne was long dead. Cornelia would not help him, Euphemia _could_ not help him, and neither could Nunnally. He would rather die than ask Milly Ashford for help, after the humiliations she had heaped upon him.

And the Black Knights were no more likely to welcome him than they were to welcome Suzaku, no matter what Lelouch might desperately hope.

So then where could he go? To the EU maybe? Or even the Chinese Federation? Surely they would have use for an experienced knightmare pilot?

Except they wouldn't let him show them so. He knew only too well what would happen to him if he tried to defect. He knew, because Britannia would have to be insane to trust a defector with actual combat duties. Assuming he didn't rot in a cell for the rest of his days, he would spend the rest of his career trapped in the lowest ranks, under constant surveillance, without hope of acceptance or comradeship.

Alexander felt sick inside, suddenly disgusted with himself for even considering it. How could he defect? How could he just run away, after the life he had chosen to live? Was he so craven? So poor in spirit? Could he bring further shame upon his father, the only father he had ever known? Could he damage Princess Cornelia's standing that much? Just for the sake of revenge?

There was only one realistic option, only one that allowed him even a sliver of honour. It was strapped to his waist, hidden by the skirt of his maroon coat. One pull of the trigger and it would all be over.

"Hey there," came a sultry voice from behind him. Alexander spun around, snarling in irritation, to see the same red-haired young woman he had seen before. She was wearing a lascivious smile, and her golden eyes were sly.

"What do you want?" he growled, hoping it would dissuade her. He _really_ wasn't in the mood.

"I thought you could use some company," she said, sashaying towards him. "You look like you've had a rough night."

"It's none of your business." The girl stopped only when she was right in front of him, so close that her body was pressing against his. He could feel her breasts through her jacket, and found himself wondering if she was wearing a bra.

"My name's _Nena_," the girl said. "I've seen you fight. You fight like a total psycho. I _like_ that."

She grabbed his shoulders and thrust her mouth onto his. Alexander gagged in surprise as her tongue writhed around his mouth. He ran short of breath, but she wouldn't stop.

Eventually he regained enough of his senses to shove her away, breaking the unwanted kiss. Nena giggled, apparently amused by his reaction, liking her lips.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Of all the things that could have happened to him. Of all the horrors fate had yet to inflict upon him. Of all the unfortunate, unjust, unbearable…

"You!" the voice roared again. He knew that voice only too well. He also knew those eyes, and the rage that blazed inside them. He knew the blue hair, spiked out at the sides, and that air of barely-contained aggression.

He had first met Michael Trinity many years earlier, on his first day at Colchester's elite cadet school. Homesickness and an uncomfortable new uniform had been quite enough for him to deal with without some annoying kid trying to force his will on him. The younger Trinity brother had evidently thought himself the dominant power in the boy's dormitory, and was even more evidently determined that Alexander should respect that fact. His first attempt, that very night, had been Alexander's first and last fight at the cadet school.

It was a humiliation he had evidently not yet forgiven.

Alexander felt his face twist in anger as Michael approached, shoulders hunched and teeth bared, in that almost feral manner he remembered. He readied himself for the brawl he knew was inevitable.

"Y'think you can kiss my sister and get away with it?" Michael snarled. "Y'think you can humiliate me and get away with it?"

"Walk away, Trinity," Alexander hissed, his tone as dark as his mood. "You will regret this."

"No!" Michael snapped back. "_You'll _regret this!" Michael leapt at him, drawing back his right fist. Alexander dodged, the blow whistling past his ear. Michael swung at him again, and again, spittle flying from his snarling mouth. Alexander dodged, dodged again, waiting for the enraged man to overreach himself. Michael was still incapable of controlling his emotions, a fact made plain by his behaviour.

Michael punched again, this time with such force that his body moved too close. Alexander struck, his fist catching Michael in the face. He punched again, and again, pouring his rage into his fists, revelling in the spittle and blood flying from Michael's face.

He stopped himself, letting Michael stagger back. Blood trickled from the other man's crushed nose, and bruises discoloured his face. But the fury in Michael's eyes was undimmed.

"You're not gonna humiliate me!" Michael coughed. "Bastard!" He charged, this time throwing himself straight at Alexander's chest, knocking him to the ground with a crunch of disturbed gravel. Alexander tried to throw him off, but Michael pinned him down, clamping his hands around his throat. He felt his throat close off, preventing him from breathing. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples as he stared into that nightmare face, a grimace of mingled fury and pleasure. He punched the face, punched it again, and again, but Michael would not let up. He could see black spots at the corners of his eyes.

He grabbed Michael's collar with both hands, pulling him down as he thrust his head up. Their skulls met with a jarring crack, making Michael yell in pain and surprise. Seeing his chance, Alexander pulled back his knees and thrust them forward, throwing Michael back and off him. He slammed both fists forward into Michael's face, sending him sprawling backwards.

Alexander crouched where he was, breathing heavily as his burning lungs replenished themselves. He saw Michael pull himself back up, baying like an animal. He readied himself.

The sound of a gunshot hit his hears like a thunderclap. Alexander looked up to see Suzaku standing nearby, handgun aimed between them, his eyes hard. Behind him Euphemia stormed along the path, thunderstruck, while Marina hurried after her. Alexander stood up, preparing for what he knew was coming.

"Alexander!" Euphemia barked. "What _do_ you think you're doing? I've just heard about how you treated Marina, and now I find you brawling in public! What's gotten into you?"

"Your highness!" Alexander snapped back, in no mood to be cowed. "That girl," he pointed at Nena, who had stood aloof through the battle, "forced herself on me, and _that_," he jabbed his finger at a furious Michael Trinity, "attacked me! I did nothing but defend myself!"

"He had his way with my sister!" Michael snarled. Euphemia stared at him, and Alexander had a horrible feeling he knew which she was willing to believe.

"Euphie!" Marina protested. "Euphie please listen!"

"I won't hear of it Marina!" Euphemia snapped. "I won't let him treat you like that!"

"Believe what you will, Princess Euphemia!" Alexander growled back. "I will not suffer to be assaulted by the likes of him!" Euphemia looked horrified, evidently unaccustomed to being spoken to in that way. Alexander knew he was going too far, but he was too angry to care. His life was over in any case.

"Alexander Bismarck Waldstein!" she almost shouted. "I…I thought I knew you!"

"Euphie!" Marina wailed. "Please!"

"I think I can explain!" proclaimed another voice. Alexander looked up to see Mena Carmine emerge from behind one of the ornamental bushes, with Shirley in tow. "I saw everything!"

"What?" Euphemia demanded, suspicion and anger on her face. "What did you see?"

"Sir Alexander spoke the truth!" Mena proclaimed. She stopped, and pointed imperiously at Nena. "That girl forced herself on him, then stood aside while her brother attacked Sir Alexander!"  
"You lousy interfering bitch!" Michael yelled. "You haven't changed! You're still looking down on us, like you always have!" Alexander saw Mena's lip curl in disgust.

"Miss Carmine," Euphemia turned her attention back to Mena. "How do you know those two?" Mena paused, and Alexander wondered what could have passed between them that could be so terrible.

"Because…your highness…" Mena's eyes were full of bitterness. "They are my younger brother and sister." Euphemia and Marina both gasped.

"Is this true?" Euphemia demanded.

"I'm afraid it is, Euphie." Now it was Princess Carline's turn to approach, her face hard. Behind her were Lord Luciano Bradley and Lord Johann Trinity, along with Rai and Nonette. Michael's face went white, and Nena looked suddenly nervous.

"Carline?" Euphemia sounded confused, but anger and suspicion still furrowed her brow.

"Nena," Carline walked very slowly towards Nena, who flinched at her gaze. "You will explain yourself." Nena looked like a deer caught in headlights, her hands help up to her mouth. For a moment Alexander thought she would run away, such was her apparent terror.

Instead of which, she burst into tears.

"I didn't mean it!" she wailed, covering her face with her hands. "I just wanted to talk to a nice man, but he won't let me! He kills any man who looks at me!" Michael gaped like a goldfish, as if trying to deny it.

"Nena…" Carline stared at her in apparent surprise.

"He's obsessed with me!" Nena wailed, sobbing like a child. "He wants me for himself!"

"Wait a minute!" Michael blurted out, as all eyes bored into him.

"Excuse me, your highnesses." Johann strode up to the stunned Michael and punched him in the stomach, making him double over gasping. The elder Trinity slung his wheezing brother over his shoulder and strode away without another word.

"I think that's been settled," Luciano commented, grinning nastily. "I'm just sorry I missed the fight."

"Nena." Carline put her arms around Nena's shoulders and held her close. "Now now Nena, compose yourself." She looked up at Euphemia, who looked on in obvious sympathy.

"I think I should go, Euphie," she said gravely. "Nena isn't feeling well."

"By all means," Euphemia reassured her. Carline turned to Alexander.

"Please excuse her conduct, Sir Alexander." Alexander mumbled an affirmative as Carline led the sniffling Nena away, followed by Lord Bradley. That he did so might have been something Alexander would have noticed, under any other circumstance.

"Even if that's settled," Euphemia spoke up, as Suzaku holstered his gun and took his place at her shoulder. "What did you mean, Alexander, by speaking to Marina like that?"

"Euphie," Marina interjected. "Please let me explain. It's a misunderstanding!"

"I agree, your highness," Nonette spoke up. "I do not believe young Alexander would behave in such a fashion without a reason."

"Lady Nonette is right, your highness," Rai spoke up. "Sir Alexander is a good man." Alexander could not believe what he was hearing.

"I believe I can explain that also," Mena proclaimed again. "Princess Marina mistakenly accused Sir Alexander of being changeling. Specifically, she confused him with a street child by the name of Soran, whom she saw being brought into the Golestan Palace by Lord Bismarck Waldstein the night the Krugisian Civil War ended, having been rescued by Lord Bismarck from a street brawl. Her confusion was caused by the effect of the passage of time on her memory, and the fact that she was not made aware of Soran's fate. Unfortunately he succumbed to his injuries and was buried in a local cemetery at the Shah's expense. Sir Alexander had never actually been to the palace before that point, and would not do so until one week later, when he and Princess Marina were formally introduced, hence her memory of him." Mena smiled. "I believe I have made it plain, your highnesses."

"Yes," Marina agreed. "That must be it. But I fear I do not understand why Sir Alexander was so enraged."

"That is because Sir Alexander is very sensitive about such accusations," Mena went on, without waiting to be asked. "As a result of his father's known tendency towards seclusion, and his mother's background, Sir Alexander was effectively concealed from society for the first six years of his life. His mother was a minor aristocrat and a pathological recluse, making her union with Lord Bismarck, if Sir Alexander will forgive me for saying so, a _mésalliance_ by the usual standards. Unwilling to suffer the indignity of a morganatic marriage, Lord Bismarck married her in secret, only for her to die a year later of complications arising from Sir Alexander's birth. To have come into the world under such circumstances would leave anyone's background open to question."

"You do like to hear yourself talk Mena," Nonette commented dryly. Mena did not reply, but gave a thoroughly bewildered Alexander a sympathetic look.

"I'm sure everyone here understands what you've endured over this, Sir Alexander. You need not trouble yourself."

"I owe you a debt of gratitude, Miss Carmine." Alexander bowed low, in spite of the pain in his chest.

"It's the least I can do for a young man who has earned my respect," Mena replied. "But I think their highnesses deserve an apology all the same." She gestured at Euphemia and Marina, both of whom looked at him with obvious sympathy, as was everyone else. Alexander, who felt as if he was drowning in shame, cleared his throat.

"I have no excuse, your…" But he was cut off as Euphemia put her hands behind his shoulders and pressed him to her.

"No, you must forgive me." Euphemia sounded as if she was going to cry. "You must forgive me for doubting you. Alexander, my own dear friend."

"Your highness…" The others made exaggerated shows of looking away. It was all very awkward.

"It's because of Cornelia isn't it! She's been bullying you because of me! I know it!" Euphemia pulled back to look him in the eyes. "Alexander, if she gives you any more trouble, you must promise to come to me so that I can help you. Will you promise?" Unable to resist the look in her eyes, Alexander bowed his head.

"I promise, your highness."

"I feel I must apologise also," Marina interjected, stepping forward. "I have done much harm this evening, and I am ashamed." Alexander regarded her for a moment, and found he could not understand why he had hated her so.

"Your highness does not need to apologise to one such as me," he said, bowing to her. "I should not have overreacted."

"Princess," Suzaku interjected. "If you wish to catch the dancing, we should return presently." It occurred to Alexander that he could still hear music playing in the ballroom. Evidently the altercation had gone entirely unnoticed.

"Oh yes!" Euphemia perked up. "Poor Schneizel will be wondering where we are, and Lord Cyrus will be getting dreadfully agitated. Let's…oh!" She gave a cry of concern as she noticed Alexander wince. "Are you hurt?"

"It's nothing much, your highness," Alexander bluffed, playing down the pain in his chest and throat. "Please go on without me."

"But you're hurt!" Euphemia protested. "I can't leave you alone like this!"

"Your highness," Shirley interjected, speaking for the first time. "If you please, I can take care of Sir Alexander."

"Are you sure," Euphemia asked. "You may miss the dancing."

"It's all right, really," Shirley insisted. "And it's more important that your highness be there. After all, everyone wants to see you dance with Suzaku!" She suddenly clammed up, realising what she had said. Suzaku blushed, and Mena and Nonette looked as if they were about to burst out laughing. Euphemia looked momentarily nonplussed, then giggled.

"Well then, _Suzaku_," she offered her knight her arm, beaming. "We can't disappoint everyone now, can we?"

"Indeed, your highness." A still-blushing Suzaku hooked his arm through hers and they headed back towards the ballroom.

"I should stay and help too," offered Rai earnestly.

"Oh no Rai, don't do that," Shirley insisted, taking Alexander's arm. "You should say with Lady Enneagram."

"Not running out on me, are you Rai?" Nonette asked in a tone that was only mildly threatening.

"Well, I really should…"

"Miaow.

"Not at all!" And Rai and Nonette headed off in the same direction, Rai's face a rather compelling shade of red. Mena shot Shirley a wink before following them.

"Is it bad?" Shirley asked, sitting next to Alexander as he perched himself on the rim of the fountain.

"I've had far worse, Miss Fenette," Alexander replied, allowing her to unfasten his collar. "But I fear I'm ruining your evening."

"It's fine, really." Alexander noticed that her speech pattern had changed, and she seemed more confident somehow. "I can't just leave you all alone." She smiled, and Alexander felt lighter somehow. "Besides, I think those two make a cute couple."

"Which two?"

"Both!" Shirley giggled, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, Alexander felt himself laugh along with her. For some unintelligible reason, he felt quite content sitting with Miss Shirley Fenette on the rim of a fountain, on a night that should have given them both pneumonia were it not for Prince Schneizel's patio heaters, the sound of music playing just a short way away.

And to think, only a few minutes earlier, he had contemplated killing himself.

* * *

The limousine was filled with shrieking laughter.

"Did you see the looks on their faces?" Carline cackled. "When you said about how he did things to you?" The comment brought another burst of hysterical laughter from Nena. In a brief lull, they clinked their champagne flutes.

"To a thoroughly dull night filled up with fun!" Carline toasted.

"And to Princesses thoroughly fooled!" toasted Nena in return. They downed their flutes in one go.

"Your poor brother Michael," Carline commented, as Nena reached for the bottle. "What do you suppose Lord Johann will do to him?"

"Oh, throw him in the sea probably," Nena mused as she refilled Carline's glass. "Or beat him with rods. I think he secretly likes it."

"Who?"

"Both of them." They laughed.

"I've never known any girl," Carline commented between sips of champagne, "to have so little respect for her big brother."

"I respect Johann just fine," Nena retorted, as Carline took the bottle from her and refilled her glass. "Michael's my brother and all, but he really walks into these things. Getting him to show up was so easy you wouldn't believe it."

"And…" Carline lounged in her seat, a lascivious smile on her face. "How did you find the young sir?"

"He tasted _nice._" Nena gave a moan of pleasure at the memory. "I'd like to keep him as a pet."

"You'll have to subdue him yourself."

"I think I can handle it." Nena' smile faltered when she saw the suddenly grim look on Carline's face. "Princess?"

"I have to kill her, Nena." Her tone was as dark as the look in her eyes. "I don't particularly want to, but I don't have a choice. Amelia will never let father demote her, and it's meaningless anyway. It'll be Schneizel versus Euphemia when the time comes, demotion or no, and with Cornelia on her side that means Euphie will have the army, or at least some of it. There'll be civil war for sure, and if Schneizel doesn't kill me Cornelia certainly well."

"But if you kill her," Nena put down her glass and snuggled up to Carline. "That puts you firmly on Schneizel's side. Cornelia won't let it go."

"Which is why I have to kill her too," Carline said sourly. "And even if I'm on Schneizel's side, that doesn't mean he's on my side."

"You're not alone, Princess," Nena insisted mildly. "I still don't get why you won't compete for the throne."

"You think I'm a match for Schneizel?" Carline asked cynically. "Believe me Nena, my only hope of survival is if Schneizel is capable of gratitude. If he decides he doesn't approve of me offing his main rivals, I'm fucked."

"Don't say that." Carline looked up in surprise. Nena's eyes were in shadow, her face set. "Don't say that, Princess."

"Nena?"

"What will happen to me if you die?" Nena shivered, her voice quavering. "What will become of me? Who will understand me? Who will take me in?"

"Nena…"

"You are the Fifth Princess!" Nena sounded close to tears. "You can't talk like there's no hope! Like you're already doomed! You can't be like that!" Carline sighed, and hugged her.

"I'm sorry Nena," she whispered in her ear. "I didn't mean to hurt you. You're my only friend."

"Then stop acting like it's hopeless," Nena replied. "Let me help you. Let me help you win."

"I'll win," Carline reassured her. "Believe me, I'll win."

* * *

_**Straits of Malacca, Indonesia, Chinese Federation**_

"That," Sir Daryl Dodge said, "is impressive."

"I second that," Sir Howard Mason cut in, grinning as he stared up at the knightmare frame.

It was _beautiful_, there was no other word for it. The design of the new ATI was noticeably different from Britannic's existing range derived from the _Glasgow_. Its legs were longer, especially the lower legs, as were its narrow arms. It lacked the spindly waist of the older models, and on the whole its lines and curves were more rounded, more graceful, than what they were used to.

The weapons did not disappoint either. The most obvious was the long-barrelled gun the ATI was clutching in its right hand, its design matching the machine's smooth lines. Attached to the other arm at the elbow was a curious device that appeared at first glance to be a two-bladed propeller. Four short wings extended from the back, two at the shoulders, two at the waist.

The hold of the _Roxelana_, an otherwise nondescript freighter that had accompanied the Krugisian naval task force on its goodwill tour until a few hours earlier, was packed with them.

"So, Andrei," Daryl called to their colleague. "What do they call this thing again?"

"Aerial Transformable Interceptor, or ATI," Andrei replied, reading from the clipboard. "The Kingdom of Krugis' latest contribution to the security of the empire."

"Don't you mean Area Seven?" commented Howard lightly.

"Same thing!" Daryl retorted. "What does it say about the gun?"

"It's a _Linear Rifle_ apparently," Andrei read from the clipboard. "Thirty-six megajoule compact electromagnetic railgun." Daryl whistled, impressed.

"And that thing on the other arm?" Howard asked.

"That's…" Andrei flipped through the pages. "A _Defence Rod._ Apparently it spins around to deflect things, and…" he blinked and looked again. "_Plasma_ field?"

"I gotta say," Daryl spoke up. "The Major really came through for us, getting us these things."

"Drool all you want," Andrei retorted sourly. "We're the ones who'll have to shake them down."

"Don't you like a challenge, Sir Andrei?" Daryl quipped, earning a withering glare from Andrei.

"Says here there's a special prototype for the Major," Howard said, glancing at the top page on the clipboard. "Hey Major, did you…!" Then he realised that Major Aker was nowhere in sight.

"Where's he gone?" Daryl asked, glancing around the hold.

"Leave it to me," said Soma Peries, who had not said a word since they came down. "I think I know where he is."

* * *

The ocean was remarkably calm, a black limpid pool stretching from horizon to horizon. Above the ship the stars glittered in the heavens, though their radiance could not compare to the moon.

So Graham Aker thought as he stared up at the night sky. How bright the moon seemed that night. How it seemed to smile, like an old friend.

Was _she_ looking at the moon too?

Despite his best efforts, Graham had been unable to forget about Viletta Nu, to put the past behind him. She was Missing-Presumed-Dead, the only trace of her being a patch of blood on the Yokoyama docks, unquestionably hers but not enough for her to have bled to death. That one fact had given him hope, rendered him incapable of accepting that she was gone, that he would never see her again.

But even now, when even that slim hope had faded, he could not forget. If anything his feelings for her had grown stronger with time. Even on a mission like this, a mission of such importance, he could not get Viletta out of his head.

Had he loved her? Was that the explanation? Could it be that he, the most devoted, the most diligent, the most committed of soldiers, had found some other object of devotion?

It seemed hard to believe. As a child Graham had known little of comfort and less of love. He owed his status to his own efforts, and to an empire that would give the lowliest of men a chance if they tried hard enough. In all those years of study and training, of hardship and adversity, of triumph and exultant success, had he ever really loved a woman?

It brought him little comfort. People were always going on about how love was supposed to make you happy, but it wasn't making _him _happy. All it gave him was a feeling of emptiness, of being somehow bereft. It was a feeling that had grown steadily over the weeks and months since Viletta had disappeared, until it invaded his thoughts almost constantly.

Graham knew he should resist. It was unmanning him, weakening him, distracting him from the transcendent path of warriorhood. But he could not resist. He could not let go of her.

And so he stared up at the moon, like the lovesick teenager he had never taken the time to be, and wondered if he would ever find true happiness.

"Sir." The familiar voice disturbed his reverie, though it was not unwelcome.

"Sorry to disturb you sir," Soma continued. "But you look like you're about to cry or start singing. Neither is befitting your rank." Graham chuckled.

"Do you ever look at the stars, Dame Soma?"

"No sir."

"Try it some time." Graham smiled in spite of himself. "They can teach us a great many things."

"I don't believe in astrology, sir."

"Nothing is permanent in this world," Graham went on, undeterred. "Everything comes and goes, but the stars are always shining, and the moon comes and goes as regularly as the sun. Even our feelings change." He trailed off, wondering if his analogy made a blind bit of sense. He had never been one for poetry.

"Sir," Soma began, pausing to choose her words. "It's about Dame Viletta, isn't it." Graham could not bring himself to reply straight away. A part of him wanted to bluff it out, to deny it. But when he turned and looked into those golden eyes, he knew it was pointless. Soma Peries was remarkably astute.

"Yes, Dame Soma, it is." He turned back to the rail, and gazed up at the moon again. "It's funny, but you never really value anything until you lose it." He laughed ruefully. "I didn't think there was much going on between us. She was just fun to be with, someone to talk to." He paused a moment. "It must be hard for you, Dame Soma, not having any girls your own age around."

"I'm fine sir, really." Soma wasn't sure she liked where her leader's thoughts were taking him. But she owed him too much to turn her back on him when he needed someone, anyone, to listen to him.

"I didn't realise until after she was gone," Graham went on, mournfully. "I love her, Dame Soma. I really do. But now she's gone."

"We don't know that sir," Soma insisted. Some part of her was fighting back against his despair, determined that he should not lose hope. "You can't lose hope sir."

"Oh can't I, Dame Soma?" Graham turned to face her again, giving her a rueful smile. "You forbid me to despair."

"You have to stay strong, sir." Soma cleared her throat. "I follow you because you chose me, sir. But I also follow you because you're strong. I have seen your strength, both on the battlefield and off it. I believe that Dame Viletta saw that strength in you too. It is the strength to fight, but also to be kind, as you are with Sir Andrei, and to never lose hope, as you must not. You have to stay strong for her, sir." Graham regarded her in mild surprise. He had not expected such eloquence from the normally taciturn girl.

"Maybe you're right, Dame Soma," he replied, looking up at the moon again.

And as he did so, many miles away, a young woman with blue-grey hair was looking at the moon too, wondering why she dreamed of a blond man.

* * *

**This one was heavy going, and I'm glad it's done. I've been going through a difficult patch recently, so I hope this is good enough to make up for it. **


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

_**Specially-Administered Zone of Japan, December 2017 ATB **_

"What a day!" Euphemia commented, beaming. "To think there would be so much to do!"

The work of creating a state, even one as small as the Specially-Administered Zone of Japan, was titanic to say the least. Euphemia had purchased a parcel of land in the shadow of Mount Fuji, consisting of what had once been a substantial town and the rural land around it. It had then been necessary to furnish the town with all that its prospective inhabitants would require.

It was no small task, and if anything the sheer popularity of the SAZ was one of the biggest problems. Many tens of thousands had signed up, and Euphemia and Marina had spent untold hours negotiating with community leader to ensure that everyone was properly housed and that all the necessary amenities were in place.

To Marina Ismail, the most inspiring part of it all had been the apparent enthusiasm of the Japanese. To be a part of the SAZ project seemed to have filled them with a new vigour, a new hope. They were building something new, a part of something so much greater than themselves, and Princess Euphemia was their leader.

She only hoped it would last.

"It almost makes me feel nostalgic," Marina replied, as the two princesses gazed out over the SAZ, a sea of lights in the oncoming darkness. "If things had gone half so well in Kurdistan, it would have been called a miracle."

"Was it really so hard?" Euphemia asked, turning to regard her friend. "I can't imagine it being harder than this."

"It wasn't the work, not really." Marina felt her heart sink as the memories rose. "Rather it was wondering whether what I was trying to do served any purpose at all."

"How it could it not?" Euphemia looked surprised. "Surely, if you were trying to help them…" She trailed off, unsettled by the look in Marina's eyes.

"Euphie, you must understand…" Marina paused, choosing her words. "You cannot forget that while we might be helping these people, we are ultimately forcing ourselves on them. They are only in this situation because Britannia conquered their country and reduced them to destitution. So it was in Kurdistan."

"But then…why?" Euphemia's smile had vanished, replaced with a look of sorrow as she looked out over the town once again. "If we are their enemies, why go along with it? Why accept any gift from my hand, if that hand is stained with blood?"

"For any number of reasons," Marina replied, trying not to sound cynical. "But most important of all is that they trust you. That want so badly to believe in a better future, and they trust you enough to follow your lead."

"Did they trust you?" Euphemia asked, turning to face her again, pleading in her eyes. "In Kurdistan?" Marina sighed.

"I…want to believe that they did. They certainly did not when my uncle first sent me there. To them I was just another Aryan come to order them around. They did not accept my sincerity…and they had no reason to."

"But they must have trusted you eventually?" Euphemia insisted, trying to encourage her.

"In time." Marina sighed again. "But only after much suffering, for all concerned."

She didn't want to tell Euphemia about it. She didn't want to tell her of the reports arriving night and day, of the shootings, the bombings, and the riots. She didn't want to tell her old friend of the price she, and all of Krugis, had been forced to pay for peace and prosperity.

"There are still many problems," Marina admitted. "There is still much poverty, and the autonomous regions aren't as content as they're made out to be. And the political conflict has never really gone away."

"With the radicals?"

"Such issues cannot be dealt with through armed conflict," Marina went on. "We defeated them in war, but if anything conflict makes ideologies stronger, even if they lose."

"I know," Euphemia agreed sadly. "That's why I'm doing this." She gazed out over the town, and Marina saw the pain in her eyes.

"Cornelia doesn't understand," she said, her voice full of regret. "Fighting is all she knows. She thinks she can solve this by defeating the rebels. Clovis tried that too, but for every group he defeated another rose to take its place. Because no matter how many of them we kill, the feeling is still there."

"It was the same with the radicals," Marina agreed. "It was poverty, shame, and despair that made them believe what they believed. It was the depths of their longing that drove them to create East Krugistan, and to make war upon those they blamed for their suffering. Though we defeated them, their beliefs have never really gone away."

Marina knew it, only too well. East Krugistan had become a myth in the hearts and minds of the radicals, a vision of a perfect and pious state, a Camelot of sorts. Marina knew that it was nothing of the kind, a travesty forced on the peoples of Afghanistan and Pakistan by a pack of religious extremists. They had tried, at first, to bring the peoples of those lands into the process. But the inevitable disagreements had broken out, for the most part over religion and social policy. Marina suspected that such conflicts had been the real reason for their aggression, the age-old resort of the short victorious war. It had cost them dear, and the people they had tried to rule even more.

"You have to understand Euphie. I know that you mean everything for the best, but there are those who will do everything they can to ruin what you're trying to build here, even if it costs them their lives. Hatred, prejudice, or the pain of loss, these things won't let their hearts hear you."

"I can't help but wonder," Euphemia said, "if this is really going to change anything. Just about everyone I ask thinks that the hatred is too strong, on both sides." She turned to face her friend again, pleading in her eyes. "Marina, do you think there's any hope?"

"I believe there is." Marina smiled, taking Euphemia's hands in her own. "It will be hard, and you'll have to be patient, but I believe what you're doing here can change things for the better."

"Marina…" Euphemia managed to smile.

"And you should keep your friends and loved ones close," Marina went on, cheered by the sight of the smile she knew so well. "You'll need their counsel, and their care, when times are hard."

"I know." Euphemia looked suddenly wistful. "Cornelia hasn't spoken to me since the announcement. She'll almost certainly return to the front soon, and I'm sure she'll take Alexander with her."

"I thought he was out of favour."

"Not any more," Euphemia insisted, smiling. "Cornelia was angry with him because of what I did, but she isn't the sort to blame people for things that weren't their fault. Besides, I'm sure she's missing him by now."

"They were close before?"

"Oh yes!" Euphemia brightened. "Cornelia's always been fond of Alexander. He was her page when she was at the military academy, and she's kept him close ever since."

"I see." Marina was more than a little intrigued that the icy Cornelia would have treated a young boy so affectionately. "But you have a close companion too these days."

"Suzaku?" Euphemia looked momentarily bewildered. "He's my knight, and a dear friend."

"Come now Euphie," Marina teased. "That's not what I saw during the ball."

"Marina!" Euphie protested, her face turning red. "It's…it's not like that! At least, not yet."

"But that is why, isn't it?" Marina pressed. "You gave up so much, just to be with him."

"It wasn't just for him." Euphemia's face fell. "I felt so useless before. Even with my title, my name, I couldn't get anything done. They wouldn't even let me choose the painting for the contest." She put her hands over her heart, and smiled as if in a dream.

"At least this way I can do something," she said. "And I can be with him."

* * *

_**Black Knights HQ**__**, Shinagawa Ghetto**_

The atmosphere among the Black Knights was the worst Kallen had ever known it to be.

There was suspicion in the air, as there had been ever since some of the Black Knights had started expressing an interest in the new Specially-Administered Zone of Japan. The suspicion was spilling over into mutual recrimination, and morale was plummeting.

Kallen could sense it everywhere she went. As she searched the base for Zero, she kept encountering her fellow Black Knights, clustered together in groups, glaring suspiciously at other groups. As she passed one such group, she could hear their conversation.

"They're saying we'll be better off, that it'll be extended to the whole country and we can be like Krugis."

"Yeah, kiss-ass Krugis."

"Don't they have any pride?"

"_Enjokosai-land_? Not a chance!" The men snickered in spite of themselves, only for their humour to fade as they saw her.

As irritating as it was, she could not bring herself to blame them, at least not much. For those of them who knew of her background, of her _and_ Naoto's background, the question would of course be there. Could even the Red Lotus be trusted? Might she, a half-Britannian, not feel tempted by the promise of the SAZ?

The worst part was, they were not entirely wrong.

Kallen gritted her teeth, forcing down her anger and the temptation that had elicited it. She did not seem some special zone in order to be herself. That she had a Britannian father was common knowledge among the Black Knights, and while some of the JLF guys had given her dirty looks, they were outweighed by those who knew her for who she really was, or else had shrugged their shoulders and put it aside. She had proven herself a hundred times over, and Zero was on her side.

The zone could never give her what she really wanted. She would be able to live as herself, to live openly as a Britannian-Japanese half-breed, but only in that tiny little enclave, that principality of peace. Those she wanted to share it with, those she wanted to share _herself_ with, would not join her there.

Irritation drove away her sadness as she glanced around the warehouse she had just walked up to, looking in vain for Zero. _Where was he_?

She had to talk with him. She had to know what he was planning, what he intended to do about this new situation. She had to tell him about the other leaders, what they were saying amongst themselves.

She had to tell him about Ougi.

As much as it had shocked her, as much as it had hurt, Kallen was not _all _that surprised. Kaname Ougi had never been enthusiastic about fighting, about the things that had to be done. The violence, the deaths, the brutality; she knew only too well how it weighed on his heart. He had always been that way, back when she had first known him as her brother's friend and classmate. It was for that friendship that he had joined Naoto's resistance cell, and for her brother's vision of a new and better Japan risen from the ashes of the old. He been quite a good second-in-command all things considered, but had never grown into the role of leader. He could never have replaced Naoto, and to Kallen it had seemed as some deep part of Ougi had followed her brother into the hereafter.

And now he was talking about joining the zone, about cooperating with Euphemia. For all she understood him, the knowledge of it still hurt. And even knowing him as she did, she could not help but wonder what brought it on. He had seemed to accept Zero's leadership, perhaps relieved to be back in his subordinate position. Why was he turning his back on everything now?

Was it a woman?

Kallen had no hard evidence, except for that phone call just after the fiasco at Port Yokosuka, in which he had asked her how to take a woman's clothes off. The question had been so bizarre as to make her hang up there and then. But Tamaki had been crowing about it the next day, about how the normally mild-mannered Ougi had been keeping a woman in his apartment, and how he had called for advice on how to declothe her. That _Ougi_ of all people would be doing something like that was shocking in itself, but looking back it hadn't seemed like his intentions were amorous. He had seemed nervous, apologetic.

And, if she thought about it, she and Tamaki were the last people he would ask for advice on such a matter.

And that was what made it so strange. So suspicious.

She realised that she had wandered away from the base, into a secluded part of the ghetto were few if any ever went. She stopped, and after a few seconds she could hear the faint murmur of conversation. Kallen followed the sound.

Sure enough there was Zero, talking with Colonel Mannequin of all people. Kallen paused a few metres from them, deciding to wait until Zero was finished so that she could get him alone, and then realised where she was.

They were in a gap between the wrecked buildings. Arranged behind Zero and the Colonel were a series of crude erections, cairns and obelisks made out of lumps of masonry. Their meaning was by no means apparent, until one saw the flowers, hung in garlands or standing in empty bottles. There were toys, scrawled notes, even pictures, or the occasional bowl of rice.

Unsettled, Kallen put her hands together and muttered a quick prayer, asking the souls remembered there not to resent her presence. She couldn't say for sure whether she believed in the spirits or the gods, be they Japan's Shinto gods or the multiplicity of other deities an increasingly interconnected world had brought to her country's shores, even before the occupation. There had been no _Kamikaze_ that time, no divine intervention to save Japan from the fate that befell it seven years ago. None of the other religions had been much help either.

As she managed to quiet her mind, Colonel Mannequin was already striding away. Kallen cleared her throat.

"Come, Kallen," Zero said, before she could speak. "I have something important to tell you."

"Yes, Zero." Kallen stepped up, wondering what it could be. For a few moments Zero said nothing, simply gazing at the memorials.

"You've been following these recent events, I trust?"

"Yes, Zero."

"You know what it means for us?"

"I…" Kallen trailed off, her emotions robbing her momentarily of speech. "Zero, I…"

"It's all right, Kallen," Zero said, kindly. "I didn't see this coming either."

"But you've got a plan, right?" Kallen insisted, desperate hope rising within her. "You're not gonna lose to that doll princess, right?"

"I have already lost to her Kallen." The words hit her like a knife twisting in her gut.

"Zero…"

"Japan is hers now, Kallen," Zero went on, seeming so very weary. "It belongs to her, and she to it, in a way that Britannia never can." He laughed ruefully. "In a way, she's defeated Britannia just as much as she has defeated me."

"No!" Kallen protested, anger and grief mingling inside her. "We're not her pets! It's not over yet! It _can't _be!"

"You're right, Kallen. It's not over." Kallen was taken aback.

"But, you said…"

"Tell me Kallen, have you ever played chess?"

"No," Kallen replied, mystified by the question. "Not really."

"Have you ever wondered," Zero went on, "why the King is never captured? Why the losing player tips the piece over to signify defeat?"

"What's your point?"

"It's a paradox inherent to the game. No game of chess has ever been won, because out of all the pieces, the King alone is never captured. The losing player's last act is always to deny his opponent the victory." Zero turned to look straight at her, her face mirrored in his mask. "I intend to do likewise."

"Zero…" Kallen was confused, and for a few moments could not make sense of what he was saying.

"No!" she blurted out, as the penny dropped. "You can't…!"

"I must, Kallen." Zero's voice was stern. "I have used you all as chess pieces, now I will take responsibility. I shall be the Black King one last time, and deny Euphemia her victory."

"You can't!" Kallen protested, horrified. "Zero we _need_ you! You can't die now!"

"Die?" Zero's tone lightened suddenly. "Have you so little faith in me?"

"You'll never make it!" Kallen snapped. "All those guards! And Kururugi! You'll never make it out!"

"Maybe, maybe not. All the same I have to try. Only her utter disgrace can save us now, and my life may be the price."

"But…"

"I have no intention of dying," Zero went on. "But if I die, you must promise me you'll stay alive. If I die, you'll be the only hope for the Black Knights."

"Don't talk that way!" Kallen snapped. "You can do so many things! All I know how to do is fight!" She looked away, suddenly ashamed. "That's all I am."

"You're wrong, Kallen," Zero replied, his tone soothing. "You're so much more than that. You're someone who can inspire others in battle, and that's the sort of leader the Black Knights need. You're the only one who can do it. Will you give me your promise, Kallen?"

Kallen struggled to control herself, fighting down her emotions.

"I swear," she said, composing herself. "I won't let your legend die."

"Thank you, Kallen." After an awkward pause, Zero stalked off, leaving Kallen alone in the memorial garden. She stood there, losing track of time, lost in her thoughts and her conflicted feelings.

* * *

_**Tokyo Settlement**_

"Your companion is ready, my lady."

"Ah." Nena looked up from her perusal of the near-palatial hotel room. "Excellent. Send her in."

"Yes, my lady." The maid bowed, and withdrew through the double doors. Nena took a moment to gaze out over the city, enjoying the sea of lights, until she heard the footsteps and the swish of underskirts. She turned again.

"Very nice," she complimented, unable to keep desire from her tone as she took in the sight. "Very nice indeed."

"Why…are you doing this?" The girl, so bitter and bad-tempered when Nena had first seen her, was a picture of sweetness and vulnerability. Her light brown hair had been washed and coiffed. Her skin, left pale by malnutrition, had been scoured, oiled, and creamed. Her shapely form was tightly corseted, accentuating her natural curves, and laced into a turquoise ball-gown. The gown flared at the waist, reaching down to the floor, leaving her shoulders exposed down to the tops of the matching gloves. Her face, so bitter and washed-out a couple of hours earlier, had been powdered and painted with exquisite skill. A necklace of silver and diamonds encircled her throat and hung down over her busom, which the neckline of the gown concealed just enough to not be scandalous. Pearl studs adorned her ears, and a silver and diamond tiara crowned her head.

Nena knew that she had never worn anything remotely like it, that her _companion _was a fish so far out of water as to be practically in orbit.

Exactly as she had intended.

"Because I wanted to give you a nice treat, Kinue dear," she replied, grinning from ear to ear as she stepped towards her. "To help you get into the right mood."

"You…you've turned me into…" Kinue Tsuji stammered, evidently scared out of her mind. "A…a _Britannian_!"

"Oh _no,_" Nena reassured her, taking her gloved hand and kissing it. "Tonight you're so much more than that." She led Kinue by the hand, the girl putting up no resistance, up to the enormous full-length mirror set into one of the walls. As she stopped in front of the mirror she saw Kinue look down, as if she did not wish to see. Smiling, Nena put a finger under her chin and lifted it up.

"There, you see?" she said, leaning in close to Kinue's ear. "You…are a _princess._" She paused, letting it sink in.

"Strange, isn't it?" she went on, almost conversationally. "How little different we are, when seen in the right light. How much it changes us, to shape our hair and paint our faces. How little it takes to turn something into something else."

"But I'm…I'm a…"

"An _Eleven_?" Nena asked in feigned surprise. "A legal distinction. Words on paper. Words…" she touched her tongue to the lobe of Kinue's ear, making her shiver, "that can be changed."

"What do you want from me?"

"We'll take about that in a moment." Nena led her back towards the chaise longue. "But for now, I want you to be my princess for tonight." She sat Kinue on the chaise longue before sitting herself, handing Kinue a flute of champagne.

"To our pleasure." Nena clinked their glasses and sipped her champagne, stifling a giggle as a nervous Kinue downed her glass in one go.

"Now tell me," the girl insisted, her eyes hardening. "What do you want from me?"

"Relax princess," Nena soothed, refilling her glass. "I, or rather my associates, need you to do something in particular. You were recommended by…_certain _people, who tell me it's something you've done before."

"Oh," Kinue replied sourly. "Who is he and what does he want me to do exactly?"

"Not _that_." Nena gazed into Kinues eyes. "I'm talking about what you did before you went downhill and started selling yourself for Refrain money."

"You want someone _killed_?" Kinue was incredulous. "That was a long time ago!"

"It was, wasn't it?" Nena pressed, still smiling. "My associates know you used to run with a resistance cell until a few years ago. What made you give it up?"

"I…" Kinue looked down, ashamed. "I…they didn't make it."

"So you gave up," Nena answered for her. "You lost all hope and turned to Refrain."

"So what if I did?" It was the first real defiance Nena had seen from her all evening. "Everything I had, you Britannians took from me!"

"Not _everything_," Nena purred. "There's still your little brother."

"Saji?" Kinue exclaimed, visibly shocked.

"Yes," Nena confirmed. "Your little brother Saji, alive and living in the EU." Kinue looked as if she was about to cry.

"If you do this little thing my associates want you to do," Nena went on, reaching into her pocket. "I'll give you _this_." She held up a small blue booklet, with the Britannian Imperial crest emblazoned in gold over the front cover. Kinue's eyes widened in disbelief as Nena opened it, showing what was unmistakeably her face. Next to it was written the name _Kinue Scheideweg._

"Yes Kinue," Nena said. "Your very own passport. And," she reached into her pocket again, holding up a plane ticket and a wad of banknotes. "A plane ticket to Hong Kong, and enough money to buy yourself a ticket to anywhere in the EU, and plenty leftover by way of a thank you. You can also keep anything I give you, including that dress. That way you'll have something nice to wear when you see your brother again." She beamed. "You do want that, don't you?"

"I…" Kinue looked down, then at the passport, then down again, her mind racing. A part of her was screaming at her to refuse, to throw it in the face of that arrogant, unsettling young woman who had played with her like a doll all evening. The tiny part of her that was still proud, still defiant, demanded she take nothing from a Britannian.

But a chance to see Saji again? To be with her little brother, whom she hadn't seen in seven years, and who was the only family she had left? To live with him in Europe, in safety?

To escape from the despair that had broken her down, that had stripped her of what was left of her pride. To escape from the hard-hearted men who took her meagre earnings in return for the Refrain that was her only release.

"All right," she said. "Who do you want killed?"

"I need you," Nena said, putting the treasure back in her pockets, "to come with me to the opening ceremony of the Specially-Administered Zone. You'll stay in this room until then, and don't contact anyone for any reason. Once we're inside, I'll provide you with a gun and get you into position. The best time will be when she makes her speech, since she'll be standing still."

"Wait a minute!" Kinue spluttered. "You want me to shoot the _Princess_?"

"Yes," Nena confirmed, beaming. "It'll only be a couple of hundred metres or so. You can handle it, if you don't get the shakes. And I'll give you something for that."

"But…" Kinue couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You're fine with this?"

"And you aren't?" Kinue could not reply. There was something very unsettling about the look in Nena's eyes.

But all the same, that didn't make her wrong.

"You're not happy about the SAZ, are you." It was a statement, not a question. "If you were, you would have signed up. A little part of you is still fighting, isn't it."

"Yes." There was no point in denying it.

"And you want to accept our offer," Nena went on, "or else you would be strangling the life out of me."

"Yes."

"Well then." Nena raised her glass again. "To success?"

* * *

_**Specially-Administered Zone of Japan, December 2017 ATB **_

Alexander was awestruck.

He would never have believed that so many would sign up for the Specially-Administered Zone, let alone actually attend the opening ceremony. But there they were, crammed into the stands and the seats set out on the stadium floor. Tens of thousands more were outside, gathered in the public parks and any open space where a screen could be set up, waiting for the moment of truth.

Above the stadium, the flags of Britannia and Japan fluttered in the wind.

Alexander would never have thought it possible. He had fought so many battles for Britannia, helping to conquer new lands. That those new lands had once been independent states, populated by free peoples, had weighed heavily on his mind. It was his devotion to Princess Cornelia, and his desperate desire to preserve his terrible secret, that had driven him on. But his devotion was the greater reason, a much higher and more selfless motive. Because he served Cornelia, he fought and conquered in obedience to her. By such means did his honour remain his own, and his hands remain clean.

The crime of conquest was not his, nor the blood upon his hands. But the knowledge of it haunted him nevertheless. There were times when he had wondered if the Gordian knot could ever be untied, if he could unite his personal honour with the honour of his cause. He wondered if he could ever find an unimpeachable cause.

That day, he knew, had finally arrived.

He glanced at Rai, who was by his side once again. The younger boy seemed as excited as he was, his blue eyes sparkling. Alexander felt a pang of guilt, for he knew he had neglected Rai those past few months. Worse, the only way he could make it up to Rai was if they went into battle together once again, and Alexander could not be sure it would happen. He was, after all, out of favour with Princess Cornelia. There was no guarantee she would not leave him in Area 11 with Euphemia. That would not be so terrible in itself. But his military career would be effectively over, and Rai's along with it, unless Lady Enneagram found him another mentor.

Suzaku Kururugi was with him too, and he seemed every bit as joyful as Rai. Alexander was not much surprised, for Euphemia's triumph was as much his as hers. Like him, Suzaku would finally be able to square the circle, to serve a cause, and a mistress, worthy of his loyalty. Alexander found that he felt happy for the younger knight, for the unhappy servitor who had found his true place. To serve Euphemia, and to fight her cause, would be the heaven at the end of his purgatory.

In more ways than one, perhaps.

"No trouble, I trust?" Alexander looked up and saluted, Rai doing likewise, as General Darlton strode along the tunnel from the MCV parked outside.

"None sir," Alexander replied. "No trouble from the…_Japanese_, aside from the crowds. Security reports all clear in this sector."

"That's good to hear." Darlton relaxed visibly, and Alexander and Rai did likewise.

"Never thought I'd see the day," he said, scanning his narrow eyes over the packed stadium.

"Neither did any of us, sir." Alexander did not know how Darlton, whom he regarded as an old comrade and something of a mentor, felt about the SAZ. If he was perturbed or upset about it, he wouldn't be the only Britannian to feel that way. But then again, he had accepted Suzaku without too much fuss.

Or was it that he trusted Euphemia as he trusted her old sister? Alexander could believe it, for the general had known the princesses far longer than he had, to the point where both regarded him as a second father. Alexander did not know, and dared not ask, what this day meant to Andreas Darlton.

"Anyway, I've got some good news," Darlton went on, his scarred face crinkling into a smile. "Princess Cornelia will be returning to Africa in January, so you'd better have your business in order by then."

"To Africa?" Alexander was taken aback. "I am…to go too?"

"Are you not an officer in her guards?" Darlton asked, amused. "Are you not a knight of hers?"

"I…I thought that…" Alexander trailed off, and Darlton barked a laugh.

"Fear nothing major. She's got a filthy temper but she doesn't punish people for what they couldn't prevent." His expression softened just a little. "She misses you, Sir Alexander."

Alexander couldn't believe what he was hearing. All the same a part of him knew it was true, for there were few besides Darlton who dared speak of Cornelia so familiarly.

"It'll be like old times," Darlton said. "You'll have plenty of time to make up with her."

"Will the Glaston Knights be accompanying us?" Alexander asked.

"That they will!" Darlton's grin widened. "Now that Prince Schneizel has finally given them back. They can't wait to meet you!"

Alexander felt a thrill of excitement. He had heard of the Glaston Knights, of course. Darlton was well-known for the number of sons he had adopted and raised, though not all had chosen military careers. The five who did had become legends, even earning the coveted right to form a brotherhood of arms. An ancient and much-revered chivalric custom, such brotherhoods could act on their own in battle, choose their own colour schemes, and were less subject to organizational regulations. Whereas a standard knightmare squad consisted of nine machines, being three teams of three, the Glaston Knights numbered only five.

Jeremiah Gottwald and his Purists, Alexander remembered uncomfortably, had been such a brotherhood before their disgrace and deaths.

"I'm sorry I won't be going too," Rai spoke up. "Forgive me, Sir Alexander , but Lady Enneagram has bade me return to her side. She said she wanted to examine my progress."

"That's good news Rai," Alexander said, feeling genuinely pleased for him. "I'm only sorry I didn't have more time for you."

"It's all right, Sir Alexander," Rai replied, smiling shyly. "I've learned a great deal from you."

"Your career is on its way lad," Darlton cut in, grinning widely. "If she doesn't knight you, Princess Cornelia certainly will."

"Thank you, general."

"Congratulations, Rai." Suzaku smiled as he held out his hand for Rai to shake.

Alexander felt warm inside. He found that, in spite of himself, he relished the thought of going to war once again. It was not only for the chance to advance himself, but for the camaraderie he was experiencing there and then.

"I'll leave you young friends," Darlton said, still grinning. "Let's see if Zero's actually going to turn up." He headed out onto the main dais, chuckling.

"Gentlemen." Alexander looked from one to the other of his fellows, his _friends._ "May I say right now, that I've been honoured to fight at your sides, and that I'm glad that we've reached this point together." He didn't know where the words were coming from, but he couldn't stop himself from saying them.

"The honour was mine, Sir Alexander." Rai blushed and looked at his boots.

"And mine, Sir Alexander." Suzaku's green eyes sparkled as he held out a white-gloved hand. Caught up in the moment, Alexander shook the proffered hand, not caring who or how many could see.  
"Just answer me one question," he said, in a more serious tone. "What is the nature of your relationship with Princess Euphemia?" Suzaku looked taken aback, then blushed. Rai was looking worried.

"That's…kind of a personal question,"

"All the same I must ask," Alexander pressed, narrowing his eyes. "As her friend."

"Well if you put it that way." Suzaku massaged the back of his neck. "We're in love."

It was Alexander's turn to be taken aback, so much so that he could not speak.

"You're…"

"Sir Alexander!" Rai hissed, close to panic. "Please! No violence!"

Alexander struggled to calm his racing mind. Princess Euphemia and Suzaku?

It couldn't happen. It wasn't by any means uncommon for princesses to become involved with their knights, but an Honourary Britannian? And one as controversial as Suzaku? Could such a thing be allowed to happen?

"Sir Suzaku…" Alexander managed to regain control of his voice. "Do you know…what you have just said?"

"Yes, I do," Suzaku replied, unintimidated. "I mean, I know it's dangerous now, but once the demotion's gone through it won't matter. That's what Euphie said."

"Demotion?" A spear of ice ran through Alexander's heart.

"Her demotion." Suzaku's brow furrowed in confusion. "Didn't she tell you?"

"Princess…Euphemia…" Alexander's mind boggled. He couldn't think, couldn't make sense of it. How could she? What would make her want to go that far? Who had demanded such a price of her, and for what?

Was it because of Zero?

"Sir Alexander!" Rai grabbed his arm. "Sir Alexander, are you all right?"

"I…I…" Alexander shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

"I'm sorry," Suzaku said, and he looked it. "I thought she would have told you herself. Then again it hasn't been confirmed."

"It hasn't?" Alexander looked at Suzaku, clinging to the sliver of hope. "There's been no announcement?"

"Not yet?" Suzaku glanced out at the stadium. "That's why I didn't tell you. I thought it was pointless since…" He trailed off, looking out into the stadium, Rai doing likewise. Alexander saw the looks on their faces, and followed their gazes out into the stadium.

And to the black knightmare that was slowly approaching over the opposite stand.

"Zero…" Suzaku whispered. As the black knightmare approached, Alexander recognized it as Prince Schneizel's stolen _Gawain_. It was quite large, around twice the size of his own _Gloucester_, with black armour edged in gold. Standing by its head, a hand on one of the tall golden 'ears', was a cloaked figure.

"Oh you came after all!" he heard Euphemia exclaim.

"_Zero,_" Alexander thought, staring at the approaching _Gawain_. "_No…Prince Lelouch._" He steeled himself as the _Gawain _came to a halt, hovering just in front of the dais. He had been given strict orders not to attack or otherwise interfere with Zero unless he did something suspicious, or he received orders to that effect. He would obey, but his heart would not stop pounding.

"Welcome to the Specially-Administered Zone of Japan!" proclaimed Euphemia, apparently not intimidated by the enormous mecha hovering in front of her.

"Greetings Euphemia li Britannia!" Zero called back. Though amplified and distorted slightly by the mask, Alexander found that he recognized the voice of Lelouch behind it. Perhaps it was true after all, that the mind saw what it wished to see. "I desire an audience with you!"

"Just with me?"

"Yes. You alone."

"Very well! Land on the pad behind us!" Euphemia turned and strode towards the tunnel, ignoring the gasps of the guests. Alexander managed to compose himself, stepping out of her way and snapping to attention as she approached. She gave him a smile as she passed, pausing to touch his hand before going on, followed by Suzaku.

"Sir Alexander…" Rai breathed, as they watched princess and knight disappear down the tunnel.

"We have to trust her," Alexander replied, gripping Rai's shoulder to reassure him. "We have to trust both of them."

"_And you too…Prince Lelouch._"

* * *

"Your highness." Livonze Almark's tiny digital simulacrum bowed its head.

"Livonze," Schneizel greeted his subordinate warmly. "I trust all has been going well with you?"

"As well as can be expected, your highness." Livonze was as unreadable as ever, though Schneizel was long past being unsettled by it.

"Your work is continuing on schedule?"

"For the most part, your highness. The VEDA uplinks are showing considerable promise. If anything, performance should be exceed your specifications."

"That's good to hear." Schneizel smiled, relaxing in his seat. "It trust VEDA isn't giving you too much trouble?"

"None at all, your highness. Our little experiment seems to have been a success. None of the previous warning signs at all."

"Sometimes," Schneizel replied, "things need time to adapt. Even something like VEDA."

"Your wisdom has triumphed once again, your highness," oiled Livonze sycophantically. "And may I say it is a great relief to me. It was bad enough the last time, especially the effect on poor Tieria."

"Yes." Schneizel did not find that memory at all pleasant. It had been a close-run thing, and the outcome might have been far worse had they not acted decisively. Needless to say, Tieria had taken it badly, and Schneizel had wondered if the brilliant though somewhat unstable young man would recover sufficiently to be of any help.

"Be sure you keep an eye on him, Livonze," he admonished mildly. "And on VEDA too. We can't afford another cascade rampancy, especially not at this late stage. Reconstruction took us long enough the last time."

"Indeed, your highness. You may be assured of my constant vigilance. If I may ask, how goes your project in Japan?"

"Well, so far." Schneizel thought of the tall glass tube, and the dark shape floating inside it. "Barring any unexpected complications I should finally have a pilot capable of handling the _Siegfried._"

"I await your success with trepidation, your highness."

"_Oh, do you now?_" Schneizel thought, amused. "_Does it worry you that I can create my own technology? That I have resources apart from yours? Do you truly believe you can keep an eye on _everything _I'm doing?_"

"On another matter, your highness," Livonze went on. "Will it be possible for us to have access to Kaminejima once again? I assumed that was the purpose of Princess Euphemia's scheme."

"It is," Schneizel confirmed. "You should be able to return to the island once the region has been pacified. I expect that my sister's project will have the right effect." He paused a moment, wondering what was taking Euphemia so long.

"Alas, while my negotiations with the Chinese Federation are going to plan, matters are not going so well with the EU. They're proving rather intractable over Africa and they refuse to halt their arms shipments to the Middle Eastern Federation. I'm afraid the coming year will open with war."

"That is no bad thing, your highness, at least not for us." There was something in Livonze's tone Schneizel did not much like. "It would be a fine opportunity to test our new prototype."  
"True," Schneizel allowed. "But all the same I have a card or two left to play with the EU. Their interference here in Area 11 is about to come to nothing, after all."

"Forgive me, your highness." Livonze's smile had faded somewhat. "But I sincerely doubt they will be dissuaded this time. Besides, certain sources tell me that it will take several months for the EU to complete its mobilization and rearmament programmes, including the construction of their latest knightmares. If you wish to make war on the EU, I recommend you do so sooner rather than later."

"Are you truly that eager to test the prototype?" Schneizel gave Livonze one of his most disarming smiles.

"I do not wish you to fail, your highness." As usual, it had not worked. "If we are to maintain our current schedule we must battle-test our newest technologies as soon as possible."

"Oh, _very well,_" Schneizel replied with feigned exasperation. "And I just to happen to have a pilot in mind. I believe Sir Alexander Bismarck Waldstein is on your candidate list?"

"He is, your highness." Livonze's smirk returned. "A fine choice, if I say so myself."

"You can have the prototype ready?"

"Another week at the most, your highness."

"Excellent, I'll be in touch." Schneizel deactivated the portable comm.

"_Did you wonder, Zero,_" he thought to himself as he gazed out over the stadium, "_why I made so little effort to retrieve the _Gawain _from you_? _All you got was a passing fancy._"

Yes. Things were going to happen, and very soon. And the fulfilment of Euphemia's dream would set the wheels in motion.

* * *

Alexander was getting nervous.

Princess Euphemia had been inside the G-1 MCV for several minutes. There was no sign that anything had happened, and her trio of O.S.I. protection officers had assured him that she was carrying her panic button. But all the same it worried him.

As he waited inside the tunnel, his attention kept being drawn to the _Gawain._ It knelt where it had landed, and had not moved or shown any sign of life. The pilot had not emerged either, though Alexander knew there must be one. It was a two-seat machine, that much he knew, and Zero had ridden in the open.

So who was piloting it? Was it the Red Lotus?

Then he saw Suzaku, who had been staring warily at the MCV, turn on the spot to stare at the _Gawain_. Surprised, Alexander took a few steps closer, moving to his left to see from another angle. Suzaku wasn't just staring at the _Gawain,_ but at a spot just beside its head.

What was more, he looked like he had just seen a ghost.

"Why are you here?" Suzaku demanded of the knightmare. "What are you doing with Zero?"

Alexander's eyes narrowed as the thoughts ran through his mind. Could this have something to do with what happened on Shikinejima? Was Suzaku suffering from some kind of mental or nervous breakdown? If so, what was it about the_ Gawain _that had brought it on? What was the connection?

And why couldn't he draw his attention away from it? Why was it…_niggling _at him, as if he had forgotten something?

All at once the _Gawain_'s cockpit slid open, and the pilot climbed out. It was a young woman, clad in a white costume not dissimilar to what Suzaku was wearing. She had very long green hair.

The girl was quite a sight, but Alexander's attention was on Suzaku, who looked at her what could only be fear.

"I…I thought so," he gasped.

"I need to know one thing!" The young woman's voice was hard and determined. "Are you the…?" She faltered, her gloved hand flying to cover her eye. She grunted, and fell to her knees.

"No…!" she gasped. "He's reached…that point…"

"What's wrong?" Suzaku asked, kneeling in front of her and grabbing her by the shoulders.

Alexander stared in disbelief as Suzaku froze. His eyes widened, then narrowed, and then he fell backwards, slumping to the floor.

"Major Kururugi!" shouted one of the protection officers, as the trio ran to his assistance.

"Why you…!" snarled another, pulling a gun from his chest holster and pointing it at the stricken girl's head, grabbing her shoulder. The girl shrugged him off, turning her golden eyes upon the three. And for an instant Alexander saw a blood red mark on her forehead, shaped somewhat like a bird on the wing.

From the emblem of the Black Knights.

The three screamed, as if some soul-bending terror was descending upon them. Alexander tried to move, but his head was a mass of pain, like nothing he had ever felt before. He fell to his knees, clutching at his skull. He tried to look up, to see by what unholy power that girl was doing it. But the pain was overwhelming him, breaking down the defences he had spent a lifetime constructing. The dykes of his psyche were bursting, the _power_ rushing in. He saw those golden eyes gazing into his own, as the woman rose to her feet and began walking towards him.

He remembered.

_Dark shapes on the walls, angry voices in the near-distance._

"_We've done nothing wrong!"_

"_In the name of God, spare my wife and child! They're innocent!"_

"_Shut up! You will pay for your infidel son's transgressions! No one is beyond the vengeance of God!" _

"_Have pity!"_

"_No pity! Vengeance for our brothers! Death to those who defy the will of God!"_

_The sound of gunfire, screams, thumps of falling bodies._

"_What now?"_

"_Set the place alight! He will find only ashes here!"_

_Flames licking up the walls, burning beams crashing to the floor, heat, upon heat, upon heat. _

"_There's a baby in there!"_

"_God be merciful!"_

"_Help me, quickly!"_

_Mad eyes, the setting sun, fluttering photographs._

"_How very clear, how very pure. There's nothing else to you. You really are a…"_

_A gunshot, a girl's tears, gentle words, eyes full of pain._

"_I didn't want you to be loyal! I wanted you to be my friend!"_

"_I cannot, my prince. I love you, but I have given my oath to Princess Cornelia."_

"_No Alexander, you will forget all of this."_

The vision vanished as suddenly as it had come.

Alexander felt his senses returning, though his head was ringing like a bell. He pulled himself to his knees, wondering what had happened.

He heard a sound to his left. He managed to turn his head, looking in the direction of the MCV.

There was scuffle going on. Alexander blinked, and saw that it was Princess Euphemia, lying on the ground with a black shape trying to subdue her, and not having much success.

"Euphie!" the shape cried. "Euphie stop!" It grabbed at her hand, and something flew out of it to shatter against the MCV's foreleg. Euphemia kicked out, driving the heel of her shoe into her assailant's leg. The man cried out, and Euphemia broke free, almost leaping to her feet and hurrying into the tunnel.

As Alexander's mind returned to him, he noticed the blank look in her eyes.

"Euphie!" cried her assailant again, struggling to his feet. "Euphie wait! Don't obey the command!"

"You!" Alexander barked, as he recognized the costume. "Zero!"

He remembered Narita. He remembered Shirley, and Mao, and the things that had been said. He remembered Lelouch gazing into his eyes, as the red bird took wing and flew straight into his mind.

His faculties returned to him in a rush. He charged at Zero, tackling him to the ground.

"Let me go!" Zero cried, frantic. "We have to stop her!"

"Spare me your lies!" Alexander roared back. "You think you can attack her and get away with it? Did you think you could erase my memory?"

"Listen to me Alexander!" Zero pleaded, struggling uselessly as Alexander straddled him.

"So you _are _Lelouch!" Alexander snarled, fury running through him like fire, revitalizing him. He tore off the mask, and ripped away the black cloth that covered Zero's mouth, revealing the face he knew was there. "Why are you doing this? Why do you oppose her?

_Why did you do that to me_?"

"Alexander _please_!" One of Lelouch's eyes was squeezed shut. But in spite of everything, something in that one open eye brought Alexander up short. "She'll kill them all if you don't stop her!"

"What do you mean?" Alexander demanded, backing away from Lelouch as if he were diseased. "She would never do such a thing!"

"She can't stop herself!" The look on Lelouch's face tore at Alexander's heart. "It's my fault! I didn't know! But she'll kill all the Japanese if you don't stop her now! You're the only one who can save her!"

Alexander was torn, conflicted. Before him was an enemy, one who had killed and destroyed, taking advantage of the Elevens, of their pain and misery. Here was a thief of memory, one who had violated his very mind.

Here was Lelouch, from whose friendship he had fled in fear. Lelouch, who was the son of Lady Marianne, of the woman who wanted to be his mother.

"Please…" Lelouch pleaded. "My brother…"

Alexander spun on his heel and sprinted down the tunnel, the rest of the world forgotten. His feet pounded against the concrete, his legs cried out in protest, his lungs burned, but he still he ran. He ran, though he knew not why. He ran, because he had to save her.

"Security breach!" he screamed into his earpiece. "Guards to the dais! Code Red! Code Red!"

He reached the exit, racing out into the light. Before him was Euphemia, standing at the front of the dais, illuminated like some sculpted angel in the light of the sun.

"Everyone! I have a very important…!"

And then she was falling.

She fell to her right, a crimson stream spurting into the air. For a fraction of an instant, that seemed like an eternity, there was silence.

Euphemia hit the floor of the dais, her hair spilling around her head like a halo.

Alexander fell to his knees, only metres away, the cry of a damned soul tearing at his ears.

It took him amount to realise that the cry was his own.

* * *

Kinue dashed down the steps, terror and exhilaration warring with her.

She had done it. She had actually done it.

She clutched the rifle, glancing up and down the service corridor. No one was there. The thunder of footsteps was from the public section several floors below, no doubt choked with panic-stricken Japanese trying to flee the stadium. Their cries of terror and disbelief followed her, looming behind her like an accusing finger aimed for her heart.

She had done it. She had killed Euphemia.

Or rather she had begun the process. She knew enough about killing to knew that started with a bullet didn't always end with a bullet, or at least not the same bullet. But that was not her problem. If Nena's _associates_ played their part, they would have the outcome they wanted.

Princess Euphemia would die. That…_Britannian _would die. Finally, after everything she had been through, everything she had lost, she had struck a blow that would count for something. At long last, she had made the House of Britannia pay. Zero had beaten her to the punch by killing Clovis, but Kinue Tsuji was no longer envious. She had gone one better.

Her lips curled upward in satisfaction, even as her heart pounded in her chest. That _girl _had paid the price for mocking Japan's pride.

Now all she had to do was find her contact, pick up the other half of her reward, and head for Tokyo Settlement. With the ticket in her hands, and the passport Nena had given her that morning, she would be on her way to Hong Kong within a few hours.

And then to Europe, where she could find Saji and start putting her life back together. In that moment, in that brief shining moment, Kinue didn't even mind if that annoying girl was still with him.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, Kinue ducked into a side corridor, leading to a probably locked door. The steady pace of the footsteps suggested the newcomer was not hostile, but she could take no chances.

"Kinue?" called a male voice. "Kinue Tsuji? It's all right. It's Luciano." Kinue stepped out, holding the rifle at her hip. Standing in front of her was a tall, lean man, with a carrot-coloured hair gelled up into spikes. His hands were up in mock surrender, his orange cloak falling away to reveal a white suit underneath. His face was narrow, wearing a shark-like smile.

"So you're Luciano," Kinue commented, approaching cautiously, rifle levelled to fire. "Fork over what's mine or I'll kill you and take it. And your wallet."

"Now now." There was something…not quite right about Luciano's voice. "It's right here." Luciano reached under his cloak and drew out a translucent packet, in which the plane ticket and the wad of cash were plainly visible. He tossed it to her, and joy flooded through her as she lowered her gun to catch it.

"I'm coming Saji," she whispered, as her hand closed around the packet.

Four bullets tore into her abdomen, throwing her to the ground.

Luciano Bradley knelt beside the stricken girl, looking straight into the agonized, staring eyes.

"It's nothing personal," he said, and he meant it. "But we can't let you live." He drew an injection gun from his belt, the phial containing a familiar golden liquid.

"Accept this," he said, taking her arm. "The limit of the Vampire of Britannia's compassion."

He stuck the needle in and pulled the trigger, letting the Refrain commence. This done, he stood up, putting a finger to his earpiece.

"All units! The assassin is among the Elevens! Weapons free, repeat, weapons free!"  
"Please confirm order!"

"Confirm order, weapons free! On the authority of Lord Luciano Bradley of the Round Table!" Luciano's smirk widened. "Disregard all countermands! Kill the Elevens!"

"Yes, my lord!"

* * *

Neil forced himself to remain calm.

It wasn't the first massacre he'd seen. Well actually it was the first he'd _seen_ in the sense of having been there at the time. The other times it had been the aftermath, the horror of fallen bodies, the moaning of the dying, the smell of blood hanging in the air.

Like _that _time.

He could see it all clearly. His _Gekka_'s zoom function was amazing, considerably better than that of the _Glasgow_ clones and _Panzer-Hummel_s he'd trained and fought in before coming to Japan. It was actually better than that of the standard _Gekka, _for Rakshata had specifically designed that particular knightmare for sniper functions. From his vantage point on the hillside, well concealed in the trees, he could see just about everything that was going on.

Though a part of him wished he could not.

He could see them all clearly. He could see them running, hiding, pleading, dying. He could see the grey-painted APCs roll into position, lining up to block the streets. He saw the grey-armoured troops unload and line up. He felt his heart clench as they poured volley after disciplined volley into the stampeding Japanese.

Neil fought back, pushing back against the feelings, the memories. He didn't want to remember those times. He didn't want to remember that day, all those years ago, when his life had been consumed in a blaze of hatred. He didn't want to remember their faces behind the bulletproof glass, devoid of remorse, _proud_ of what they had done.

He wanted to fire. He wanted to use his _Gekka_'s anti-materiel rifle to fight the Britannians, to shoot down the knightmares and destroy the APCs, to scatter and confound the murderers. His heart roared at him to aim and fire, to _fight. _

But something else held him back. Discipline, and cold logic, bade him stay his hand. He had received no orders, no authorisation to fire. He could not know what Zero was doing, or what he had in mind. If he started now, he might jeopardize the plan, and put all their lives in danger.

Such they had taught him, back in the EUROFORCE academy in Vienna. Such they had drilled into him, an eighteen-year-old recruit freshly chosen for the Paladin Corps. Orders existed to be obeyed, for the good of the mission, and for the good of all.

So he watched, and he waited.

"All units make ready." Neil recognized Kyoshiroh Tohdoh's voice, deep and no-nonsense. "Zero Squadron, move to secure the town. Destroy any and all Britannian units, but don't harm the civilians if you can avoid it. Neil, what's your situation?"

"Ready to go," Neil replied. "I have clear shots." Already the knightmares were swarming down the slope.  
"Not yet, Paladin." Tohdoh's order made him grit his teeth in irritation. "What can you see?"

"Multiple knightmares, also APCs and infantry," Neil recited, putting his eyes to the electronic scope.

"Is there any pattern?" Tohdoh asked. "Can you see who's in command?" For all his irritation it was a reasonable question. Neil moved his scope back and forth over the town.

There were things to look for in that situation, and Neil knew them well. A specialised command vehicle would have some recognizable 'tell', such as a raised aerial or some small module. Whether or not the 'antlers' that adorned some _Gloucesters_ served a similar purpose was much debated in the Paladin Corps. Neil was inclined to believe that they did.

Even then, even with Britannia's chivalric fixations, there were ways of hiding in plain sight. These included not moving in a noticeably larger group, or not standing still for extended periods.

"Negative," he replied. "No pattern. It doesn't look like anyone's giving any orders."

"Switch on your scanner."

Neil bit his lip. As useful as Rakshata's little box of tricks was, he really didn't like using scanners while trying to stay hidden. Of all the knightmares in the Black Knights, only his _Gekka _carried that particular creation of hers, for much the same reason as it carried the coilgun.

Neil keyed for passive scanning, selecting for electronic emissions. An icon appeared in the corner of his scope, informing him that the scanner was online. After a few seconds, a series of bright blue lines appeared, criss-crossing the town. That was the trouble with tight-beam transmissions. They were harder to interfere with or eavesdrop upon, but comparatively easy to detect.

"Confirmed," he said, after a few moments. "No pattern. There's no one in charge."

"What's the status of the G-1?" Tohdoh asked, his tone somewhat more insistent than before.

"MCV is silent," Neil replied. It had been the first thing he checked. "It's parked by the stadium. No emissions." There was a pause.

"Understood." As was normal with Tohdoh, Neil could detect no feeling in his voice.

"Also, you might want to stay away from the stadium for the minute," Neil added mildly. "The _Avalon_'s hovering over it."

"What is it doing?" Neil felt a twinge of satisfaction, despite himself, at the sudden hint of surprise in Tohdoh's tone. It was easy to forget, in light of how easily they could speak to one another, that Tohdoh was several hundred metres away hurtling towards the town.

"Just hovering, weapons inactive," Neil replied, focussing his scope on the lozenge shape of the _Avalon_, which loomed over the town like a threat. "I can see transit cages…full ones going up. They're evacuating."

"Understood. Give us covering fire and be ready to move on my or Zero's order."  
"Yes sir." The comm fell silent, and Neil deactivated the scanner. There was little risk of detection in passive mode, but he preferred to go without nonetheless.

He saw a target. A pair of purple _Gloucesters_ moving along one of the outer streets at full speed, heading in the direction of the oncoming Black Knights.

"_Well, Chief of Staff,_" Neil thought, as he drew a bead on the forward-most of the pair. "_You wanted covering fire, and covering fire I shall provide._"

He matched the purple knightmare's speed, calculating the drift in his head, and pictured in his mind just what would happen if he hit the target right…_there._

Neil fired, feeling the thump of recoil as the shot sped off on its way. It took only a fraction of an instant for the shot to hit, tearing the target's left leg away. The force of the maiming, combined with the forward motion of its other leg, spun the unlucky knightmare around and into the path of its fellow. Both vanished in a tumbling mass of wreckage.

Neil allowed himself the warmth of satisfaction as the _Gekka_s and _Burais_ swarmed into the town.

He just hoped there was someone left to save.

* * *

It took the Black Knights mere minutes to secure the town.

The Britannian forces had been far more numerous, but spread out and disorganized, too busy killing helpless SAZ residents to notice an outside attacker. With no one manning Princess Euphemia's MCV, which had sat quietly behind the stadium where she had left it all through the battle, the Britannians could neither see their attackers nor coordinate against them.

As for the _Avalon_, it had simply flown away, leaving the dais empty of VIPs. Some of the Black Knights had wondered about that at the time, but it proved a passing distraction.

There was little that could draw their attention from what they found inside the stadium.

The Black Knights did their best for the unfortunate residents, largely on their own initiative, for Zero was nowhere to be found. But the Britannian troops had done their work with brutal efficiency, leaving few that could be saved. The medics performed their triage, moving those few into the underground chambers, that under other circumstances would have been indoor tracks, gymnasia, and training halls, converted now into makeshift hospitals. Those that could not be helped were sent on their way, and moved into the designated morgues were their loved ones, if any, could claim them.

Kallen had never seen anything quite like it, and hoped she never would again. Her first feelings, once the fury of battle had past, were sorrow and pity for those had suffered so cruel a fate. To her surprise, she had found that those same feelings extended to Princess Euphemia, shot dead in the moment of her triumph.

Kallen had neither agreed with, respected, or even liked Euphemia. They were complete opposites, that much she knew, and when Zero had joked after Kaminejima that they were natural enemies, he could not have known how right he was. She had dismissed Euphemia as a doll princess, a well-meaning but powerless tool in the hands of those more cunning, more cruel, and more ruthless than herself. She could acknowledge Euphemia's kindness, for she had done too much that could not be interpreted in any other way, and maybe even her sincerity. But she could never have believed in Euphemia. She could never have become one of Euphemia's human pets in return for better treatment.

But did that mean she deserved her fate?

No. Kallen could not accept that. Euphemia had been misguided, naïve even, but she had not deserved to die, especially not like that. Worse, her death had sparked off what had to be one of the largest individual massacres in the entire occupation. If it had been done for the sake of Japan, for some ideal, then that would have been bad enough.

But as Kallen glared down at the dead young woman, the blood-stained sheet pulled back to reveal her face, she knew it had not been for anything like that.

Not when they found ten thousand pounds in used bank notes, a plane ticket to Hong Kong, and a Britannian passport on her, along with the Britannian MC-24 assault rifle, complete with scope, and one bullet missing from the magazine.

Kinue Tsuji had killed Euphemia, and in so doing had condemned tens of thousands of her fellow Japanese to death, for a pile of money and a new identity as a Britannian citizen named Kinue Scheideweg.

Scheideweg? Kallen would have laughed at the pun if it wasn't so sickening. Word had gotten around over the last hour or so, since one of her male comrades had recognized the body. Kinue Tsuji had been no stranger to men, it appeared.

Kallen was more than a little surprised at how angry she had been when she heard. Kinue wouldn't have been the only downtrodden girl in Area 11 to turn to prostitution. What choice did any of them have, when Britannia had stolen everything they ever had?

She had to admit that she had been disgusted once, back when she was a naïve young fighter just starting out. She had hated those women then, regarding them as whores and traitors who had thrown away their pride and dignity for the sake of a few coins. It had taken a few years in the resistance, even moving between her double lives as she had, to see how things really were, and to understand.

She had learned not to judge them, or the drug addicts such as her mother had become. She had learned to fuel her anger, her zeal, with the knowledge of their suffering. She had taught herself to fight for them, that they might find better lives in a liberated Japan.

So then why had she, for a few moments at least, despised her so much?

Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of running footsteps in the corridor outside.

"No!" yelled an anguished voice. "It's not true!"  
"Saji wait!"

Kallen furrowed her brow as the name registered.

No.

It couldn't be…

The door crashed open, and there was Saji Tsuji, eyes bulging and bloodshot. He stared at Kallen for a few seconds, puffing and blowing, and then his eyes fell on the corpse.

The colour drained from his face, the look of horror sagging into one of utter despair.

"_Nee-san_." Saji slumped to his knees. Louise had darted in after him. She saw the body, and crossed herself.

"Nee-san," Saji muttered. "Kinue…"

"Saji…" Louise looked heartbroken. "_Mi amor…_"  
"Kinue…" Saji began to shudder. "It's not fair, Kinue. You never once…you never called…"

"I'm…" Kallen felt the words catch in her throat. Saji's grief came off him in waves, seeming to press in on her from all sides. "I'm…I'm so sorry, Saji."

"Saji, _mi Corazón._" Louise stood behind him, wringing her hands, powerless to ease his sorrow. Kallen felt claustrophobic, as if his anguish was crushing her. She wanted to get out of that room, to get away from the sadness, but she couldn't bring herself to move.

"What's all the noise?" And then it got worse. Kallen glanced up as Shinichiro Tamaki stalked in, apparently drawn by the earlier commotion. He glanced at Kallen, then at Saji, then back at Kallen again.

"What's that about?" he asked, gesturing at the grief-stricken Saji. Kallen had a horrible feeling.

Tamaki was not a person she could say she liked, though she did not particularly dislike him either. He was a competent enough fighter, when he kept his head, though his talents lay primarily in administration. It was his personality that tended to let him down, and that was why Kallen had a horrible feeling.

"What're you crying about?" he demanded, looming over Saji. "She's a lousy traitor!"

"Tamaki!" Kallen growled, praying silently that he would take the hint.

"What?" Tamaki snapped back, and Kallen could tell that he was in a foul mood. The horror must have gotten to him. "She's the one responsible for all this! She must've took Britannia's money to off the princess!"  
"We don't know that!" Kallen insisted. Louise was glaring at Tamaki, but by some small mercy had yet to say anything. The confrontation might yet be averted.

"Yeah well what else is there?" Tamaki sneered. "Britannian money and a Britannian passport! She was a traitor as well as a whore, and a junkie!"

Saji's fist caught Tamaki full in the face. Tamaki crashed to the floor, yelling in pain, his nose crushed and bleeding. Louise grabbed Saji from behind before he could continue the attack.

"You bastard!" Saji shrieked. "You don't know anything! She wasn't like that!"  
"Saji!" Louise protested, struggling to hold him back.

Another Black Knight dashed in, levelling a handgun at Saji, but Kallen grabbed his wrist.

"You son of a bitch!" Saji yelled at the sprawling, spluttering Tamaki. "You lousy son of a bitch! She was my sister!"

"Get him out of here!" Kallen barked, and Louise dragged the struggling, yelling Saji out into the corridor. The newcomer, whose name she did not know, set about helping Tamaki up. Kallen shot him a look of utter disgust before storming out of the room, pausing only to lay the sheet back over Kinue's waxen face.

* * *

_**Avalon**_

The clouds outside the viewport were thick and grey, only adding to Alexander's mood.

For hours he had waited outside the _Avalon_'s emergency room, daring to hope for a miracle. But as the clock ticked on, and hours piled upon hours, Alexander knew from experience that there would be no miracle.

It was strange. He had been in that position so many times before, with so many fellow soldiers. But none of those times had ever affected him in quite the same way. Perhaps it was because they had not been his friends.

He had so few friends.

Alexander had left the waiting room. He could no longer stand to be in there, with all those sad faces. He could not bear to see Suzaku like that, not when he knew what he knew. He dared not even speak to Darlton, who seemed to have aged ten years in the hours that had passed. Earl Asplund and his staff were scrupulously avoiding him, perhaps fearful of provoking him to anger.

Princess Marina was gone, having been dragged, ashen-faced, to her VTOL by her bodyguards and Lord Abdullah. The other guests had escaped in similar fashion, including Prince Schneizel, who was accompanied by Lady Enneagram, and Princess Carline, the latter accompanied by Nena Trinity and her older brother Lord Johann.

Come to think of it, the only guest he had not seen leaving was Lord Bradley.

_Bradley._

He had heard it all over his comm earpiece. It was Luciano Bradley who had, on his own unimpeachable authority as a Knight of the Round Table, ordered the troops to fire on the crowd. Darlton had been screaming into his own earpiece, demanding that the troops cease firing. But they would not, and the massacre had gone on.

But _why_? Why had Bradley done something like that? Had he lost his head in the shock of the moment? Or was it something else?

He knew of Bradley's reputation, and what he knew worried him. The so-called Vampire of Britannia was a ruthless, some said psychotic killer, whose only redeeming feature was an unquestioned, and unquestionable, loyalty to the Empire. The list of atrocities he had committed was long, and horrific even by Britannian standards. Had he been anything less than a Knight of the Round Table, he would have been court-martialled and shot long ago. Alexander was glad that he had never served in the same warzone, for Princess Cornelia would have none of him.

Was it simple bloodlust that had made him do it? Was his desire for bloodshed so great, so all-consuming, that he had ordered a massacre on the merest excuse?

Alexander knew he should hate Bradley for it, for drowning his royal friend's dream in innocent blood. He _wanted _to hate Bradley, for surely anything was better than the sorrow and darkness that threatened to drown him. But he could not.

"How very sad," said a high-pitched voice. Alexander looked up, surprised, but no one was there.

"Down here," said that voice, deadpan. Alexander looked down.

Standing there was a young boy, or so he guessed from the voice, looking to be about twelve years old. His small body was swathed in a black cloak, and hair the colour of pale gold cascaded to the floor behind him. His face was smooth and delicate, with high cheekbones.

But it was the eyes that brought Alexander up short. They were not the eyes of a child.

"For what it's worth," that soft, child-like voice went on, "I had hoped this would not happen. Euphie deserves a better fate than this." Alexander stared at him, unable to respond.

"Alexander, isn't it?" the boy said conversationally. "I apologise if I seem rude, but now seemed the right time for us to talk. You may call me VV."

"What do you want from me?" Alexander asked. His voice sounded as broken-down as he felt.

"Nothing, I assure you," the child replied. "I've come to explain a few things, and to make you an offer."

"An offer?"

"You had a very unpleasant experience a few hours ago," the boy went on. Alexander had the strange impression that those purple eyes were looking as much _through _him as at him. "You had a run-in with CC before I had the opportunity to prepare you. I must say I'm glad you survived, and with your sanity intact, at least for the moment."

"CC?" Alexander demanded. "That girl with green hair?"

"I'm terribly sorry about that Alexander." VV sounded genuinely apologetic. "She has always been a handful, and will insist on pursuing her own agenda. I fear this is not the first time you have fallen victim to her, though previously your encounters had been indirect."  
"What do you mean?" Anger and curiosity focussed Alexander's mind.

"It's called _Geass,_" VV explained, apparently unaffected by his anger. "It would take too long to explain its nature, suffice it to say that it is the means by which your old friend Lelouch suppressed your memory of your encounter with him at Narita." Alexander felt cold inside. How much did he know?

"Thank you for disposing of Mao by the way," VV went on. "CC's little failure was becoming a liability, and he wasn't the only one. But what matters is how your encounter with her happened." He narrowed his purple eyes. "You felt a pain in your head, yes?"

"Yes."

"And you witnessed visions?"

"Yes."

"As I thought." VV smiled. "It seems my estimation of you was correct. I cannot say why she undid the effect of Lelouch's Geass, though knowing her she was probably feeling sentimental."

"Enough," Alexander growled, unsettled. "What is it you wish to offer me?"

"Something you may find useful." VV's smile widened. "A Geass of your own." Alexander's heart skipped a beat.

"What would it allow me to do?"

"I cannot say," VV replied. "No two are entirely alike, and each one manifests in response to a need. But it may be just what you need if you ever have to deal with Lelouch again." He eyed Alexander knowingly.

"You _will_ cross paths with him again, Alexander. And it will be as enemies, despite your past friendship. He'll never get an opportunity like this again." He paused for effect.

"All those Japanese," he said. "Grieving, bleeding, raging. Their beloved Euphemia lies dying, and who do you suppose they will blame for that?" His smile became a smirk. "Lelouch would be foolhardy not to take advantage of it. Her martyrdom will bring him more power than any of his usual rants. And you will need power of your own if you are to stop him, to save him from his foolhardiness." There was silence.

"No," Alexander replied.

"No?" VV sounded surprised.

"All my life, I have risen on my own merits," Alexander said coldly. "By the virtues my father taught me. I have fought with my own strength, and my own honour. Even if you could give me such a power, I would be no different from Lelouch, and Mao, if I were to accept it. It would destroy me, as it destroyed Mao, and is destroying Lelouch." VV closed his eyes, and smiled.

"So you figured that out," he said, sounding almost impressed. "You everything I hoped you would be, Alexander Waldstein."

"Sir Alexander!" Alexander glanced along the corridor at the sound. He saw Rai round the corner at a run. He looked down at VV again, only to find that he wasn't there.

"Sir Alexander." He was distracted from his bewilderment by the look in Rai's eyes. "You should come right away."

Alexander followed without a word. Red uniformed royal guards, their cap badges and shoulder patches marking them as members of Prince Schneizel's regiment, snapped to attention as he passed. Crew members scrambled out of his way, none daring to meet his gaze.

Soon enough they reached the recovery room, though the name was a contradiction in terms. Rai stood by the open door, and as Alexander stepped inside, he could have sworn there were tears in his eyes.

There she was, laid on a biobed, her slim body covered by a sheet up to her neck. Suzaku was already there, kneeling beside her.

"Alexander…" Her eyes sparkled as she saw him. "You came to see me."

Alexander could not move, nor could he speak. He felt as if his legs would give way. There was a lump in his throat, and tears pricked at his eyes.

"Your…highness…"

"Alexander, my own dear friend." She was smiling, a smile of love and forgiveness. "Will you not come close?" By some titanic force of will, Alexander made himself step forward and kneel beside Suzaku. Her left hand was already gripped in his, but she reached her right hand over to touch Alexander's own.

"You're both here." Her voice was thin and hoarse. "I'm so glad."

"Euphie…" The look on Suzaku's face was enough to tear his heart asunder.

"Suzaku…did I do all right?" she asked. "The Japanese…are they happy?"

"Yes!" Suzaku cried, forcing himself to smile. "They're happy! You gave them back their hope! You did great Euphie!"

"You're lying, Suzaku." The smile was still there. "You're trying to make me feel better. Suzaku…my love."

"Euphie!" Suzaku wailed, tears streaming down his face. "No! Not like this!"

"I never got to finish my education," Euphemia went on wistfully. "Suzaku…please keep going. Don't give it up as I did."

"I will!" Suzaku insisted, his desperate smile returning. "We'll go together! To Ashford Academy! It's so much fun!" Euphemia almost managed to laugh, then turned her eyes on Alexander.

"I wish I had known you before," she said. "When you first came to the palace. It was all I could do, to help you after Marianne died."

"It was more than I deserved, your highness." Alexander felt as if his heart would burst.

"I hope you two…will be friends," she went on. "Tell Nunnally, and Cornelia…I'm sorry. Alexander," she turned back to him. "Please…promise me you'll stay with Cornelia."

"Princess…"

"She loves you, Alexander." And he knew that it was true. It was in her eyes. "She loves you so much, but she can't say it. She needs you. Promise me…"

"I will!" Alexander felt the tears on his cheeks. "On my heart, I will!"

"And please…forgive Lelouch." Alexander felt his heart clench.

"Highness…"

"He can't help himself," Euphemia went on, her smile faltering. "He hates Britannia…as he hates himself. It is the cruelty of this world…that has made him what he is. But I believe…I _know_…he is still good. Please…try to help him…try to _save _him…for Nunnally's sake if not for mine." She faltered, her breath catching in her throat.

"No Euphie!" Suzaku pleaded. "Don't leave me!"

"I'm sorry, Suzaku…my love." Her voice was a mere whisper. "And Alexander...my brother…"

Her eyes slid shut. They would never open again.

Even as the tears ran free, Alexander let go of her hand, placing it upon her chest. He stepped back, knelt once again, and lowered his head in reverence.

It was easier that way.

* * *

The atmosphere on the G-1 MCV's bridge was as heavy as it was tense.

Task Force Bolivar had gathered there, in order to hold a much-needed meeting. The topic for discussion was pressing indeed.

Colonel Kati Mannequin stood by the forward viewport, which was still covered by the blast shield. Colonel Leesa Kujo stood by the map table, a concerned look on her face. Lieutenant Patrick Colasour and Paladin Neil Dylandy did likewise, leaning on the map table next to Colonel Kujo. Second Technician Jacque Sant-Clare sat at one of the duty stations, looking up from his work. Second Technician Saji Tsuji sat slumped on the dais, where the commander's throne was located, while Paladin Louise Halevy sat next to him, trying in vain to ease his sorrow.

Hamid leaned on the wall by the door, waiting for someone to say something.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Kati turned to face her subordinates. Her eyes were hard behind her glasses, her thin lips tight.

"So then," she said, her tone harsh. "It is come to this."

"Yes Colonel," Patrick replied, without his customary good humour. "It has."

"Is there any indication of what happened?"

"Beyond finding the body, nothing," answered Leesa, giving Saji a sympathetic glance. "All the same it seems convenient, finding the assassin dead, with a rifle with one bullet missing, and with payment in hand."

"Are you suggesting it was faked?" .

"No, but we were certainly meant to find it. I believe she was double-crossed."

"Hamid?" Kati glanced at the red-haired mercenary. "What was your impression?"

"A gigantic stitch-up," Hamid replied sourly. "It was probably Bradley who did it. After all, he _was _the one who ordered the troops to fire on the crowd."

"Is that any more than a theory?" Kati asked, sceptical.

"Well," Hamid shot her a smirk. "It's something _I _might come up with. The big question is _why. _As Leesa put so…_succinctly_, it's kinda convenient."

"Yeah," Patrick sneered. "_You _would know, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," Hamid hissed, making Patrick flinch. "Except this guy's an amateur. _I _wouldn't have left the payment on the body where any idiot could find it. We're blatantly meant to think that she was paid to do it. Unless…" He trailed off, lost in thought.

"Unless what?" Kati pressed.

"Unless," Hamid looked up again. "She was paid to do it, and they want us to think she was paid to do it, and that she was paid by someone other than them." His smirk widened. "Now _that_'s my style."

"Now you're going in circles," Patrick snorted.

"Circles within circles, wheels within wheels, plans within plans," Hamid went on. "All we've got to go on is that she was paid with a Britannian passport and money, and that she must have been given the gun once she was inside the stadium by someone authorised to have it. This was an inside job."

"It could have been Bradley on his own," Leesa pointed out. "The man's a beast."

"No," Kati retorted. "Even if they only obey the Emperor, the Knights of the Round Table still can't match the Imperial family in power and influence. If Bradley did that on his own he'd been signing his own death warrant, whether at the hands of authority or Euphemia's supporters. He had a protector. Almost certainly an _Imperial _protector." There was silence.

"So," Neil commented sourly. "The House of Britannia devours another of its own."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Patrick added, just as sourly. "So what now?"

"Everyone," Jacque spoke up. "Zero is about to speak." They crowded around the screen at which Jacque sat, which showed the dais upon which Princess Euphemia had stood only a few hours earlier. Already they could hear the chanting of the crowd through the armoured walls of the MCV.

"_Zero! Zero! Zero! Zero! Zero! Zero! Zero! Zero!_"

Zero finally emerged onto the dais, accompanied by some of the senior Black Knights. He stepped up to the microphone.

"_Japanese! And all the oppressed peoples of this world! Long I have waited in the shadows, hoping that Britannia would change its ways! Instead, they have done this dreadful thing, this act of barbarism!_" The crowd roared, and Zero paused a moment.

"_Princess Euphemia tried to help you! With her own riches and by her own efforts, she fashioned this Specially-Administered Zone of Japan, to be a refuge from the oppression and cruelty of the Britannian Empire! And they have killed her for it!" _Another roar, louder this time, mingled with wails of grief.

"_It was not the Japanese who murdered her!" _Zero went on. "_It was not I who wished her dead! It was Britannia who sought her death! It was Britannia who would rather kill her than treat the Japanese as human beings! It was Britannia who duped this woman, Kinue Tsuji, into performing the dread act!" _On the screen behind him appeared a still shot of Kinue's pale, dead face. The crowd howled with fury.

"NO!" cried Saji, pushing past them to stare at the screen. "No you can't! Don't tell them that!"

"_But she too was a victim in the end, double-crossed and slain by her treacherous paymasters! Today we have seen the true face of Britannia, a pack of robber-barons masquerading as a nation, daring to call itself the destined ruler of the world!"_

"_I hearby declare our independence from Britannia! But don't take this to be the return of the old Japan! We will not turn back the hands of time! Rather, we will fashion a new country in this land! A country dedicated to the memory of Euphemia li Britannia, our beloved martyr! A country not for one single tribe or nation, but for any and all nations, histories, and ideologies! A place of safety for all who would make it their home! This new country has no need of an arrogant title! It shall simply be called Japan, a name that in future times will stand for justice, freedom, and peace! Will you help me, Japanese? Will you follow me?"_

"_ZERO! ZERO! ZERO! ZERO! ZERO! ZERO! ZERO! ZERO!_"

"Well then," Hamid commented dryly. "It seems we have our marching orders."

"How could he…?" The tone of Saji's voice drew their attention. Saji stood before the screen, clutching his shoulders and shivering as if he were hypothermic. "How could he say that? It's lies! It's all lies!"

"Saji!" Louise pleaded.

"There's nothing to be done, Second Technician," Kati said sternly. "We have a job to do, regardless of our personal feelings."

"How can you say that?" Saji snapped back. His eyes were bulging and bloodshot, his face streaked with tears. "How can you follow that man? She was my _sister_! The only family I had left! Now because of him the whole world will remember her as a murderer!" He let out an anguished sob.

"She wasn't like that!" he wailed. "It was because of me! She took the money because of me! Because she wanted to see me! Is that so wrong?"

"We have no choice Saji," Leesa interjected sympathetically. "This is about more than us. We have a higher duty."

"To hell with that!" Saji roared. "To hell with Japan! To hell with the EU! And to hell with y…!"

Kati's gloved hand struck him across the face with a whiplash crack. The shock of it stunned Saji into silence, and made the others flinch.

"Control yourself, Second Technician!" Kati barked. Saji did not reply.

"I'm sorry about your sister," she growled. "Really I am. But there's nothing we can do about that now." She paused.

"No one here is passing judgement on your sister, least of all me. I've seen too much of what life can do to a young girl for that. Zero had no choice but to say what he did, because it was what the Black Knights were already thinking, and what they were spreading about. If he said otherwise, no one would have believed him." Another pause.

"Ordinarily I would let you cry," she went on. "Let you get it out of your system. But we don't have time for that now. Mourn for her later, and when the time is right you do everything in your power to clear her name. Let that be your purpose, if ever you find yourself needing one." She straightened up.

"Can I count on you to do your duty, Second Technician Saji Tsuji?" Saji coughed, rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, then straightened up, standing to attention.

"Yes colonel! Please forgive my conduct a moment ago colonel! I was kind of out of it colonel!"

"It happens to the best of us, Technician," Kati replied, in a milder tone. She saluted, and all except Hamid did likewise. Patrick was staring at Kati with a reverence of which no one who knew him would have considered him capable.

"But now we must prepare to leave. Hamid, Paladins, prepare to load your knightmares onto this landcruiser. Second Technician Tsuji, you will help the Black Knights technicians to rig this landcruiser for our knightmares. Second Technician Sant-Clare, what's your status?"

"We have full access, colonel," Jacque replied. "They seem to have forgotten to lock it down properly."

"Excellent. Prepare the systems and coordinate with the technical crew. Everyone, to your duties. Paladin Halevy, please wait here a moment." The others headed for the door. Jacque glanced at Kati, took the hint, and slipped on a pair of headphones before turning back to his workstation.

"Paladin Halevy."

"Colonel ma'am." Louise kept her face straight, but her eyes were hard.

"If we make haste, we should be on our way to Kanagawa in a few hours," Kati said. "There'll be time for rest on the way. I suggest you keep Second Technician Tsuji company during that time. Can you do that?"

"Yes, colonel!" Louise replied. "Thank you, colonel!"

* * *

Kallen steeled herself.

Even without her ambivalence, the elation of Zero's declaration battling with her sadness over the events that had precipitated it, the task that awaited her would be tricky enough.

They would be going into battle soon. It would take a day or so to reach Tokyo in force, but there was a fair chance of combat on the way. She had just received her orders from Zero, to have her _Guren Nishiki_ loaded onto the G-1 as soon as it was ready, to take part in the main thrust via Kanagawa and up through Tokyo from the south. Another force, led by the Samurai Blood group, would attack from the east. Already other forces were attacking Britannian military bases, seeking to either overrun them or do as much damage as possible before being forced to withdraw. Riots were breaking out all over Tokyo, as tens of millions of Japanese rose up at last. Against such sheer numbers, six hundred thousand Britannian troops could not hope to succeed.

So long as everything kept moving. So long as Zero was there to organize things, and to keep the uprisings going. So long as substantial Britannian reinforcements did not arrive before Tokyo had been liberated.

She was no longer afraid. She had not really been afraid since Yokosuka, when she had committed herself to Zero in her own words. Euphemia and the murdered Japanese would be avenged and Japan would be liberated, or else they would all die trying.

That meant she had one last thing to do, while still there was time. She wasn't sure she wanted to, but Zero had insisted.

He was where she suspected he would be. As she reached the leonine shape of the G-1 landcruiser, its Britannian flags being sprayed with red saltires, she saw the gold-painted custom _Gekka_ standing nearby, waiting to be loaded. She could see him inside the open cockpit, apparently tinkering with the controls. Kallen parked her _Guren _next to the gold _Gekka,_ and opened the hatch.

"Hey, Al-Saachez!" she called. Ali Al-Saachez, if that was his name, did not look up.

"Look, I just wanted to say…about before…" He glanced at her, his face expressionless, then returned to his work. Kallen felt awkward, wondering what to say that would get his attention.

"I had a brother too," she said. "His name was Naoto." Finally he stopped, and looked across at her. There was something different in his eyes, as if he was appraising her.

"Call me Hamid," he replied.

"Uh, okay." Hamid looked down at his console again, and Kallen wondered if he intended to say anymore.

"My brother's name was Soran," he said.

* * *

**(Finally done after all this time. I've had a couple of busy months, so I hope this is good enough to make up for it. **

**I'm sorry to anyone who wanted me to spare Euphemia. Personally I prefer to spare her, but Zaru and I decided it would be the best way to go. Deathwing's suggestion about the Black Knights rescuing her is quite interesting, and I had wondered about that myself. It remains a possibility in future fics. For those who wanted action, the next chapter will be pretty much nothing but, as the battle for Tokyo is joined. **

**One little matter to clear up. In case I hadn't made it clear, CC did indeed undo Lelouch's geass on Alexander. Why she did so is a matter for another time, and I thought she should be able to since she managed to undo Charles' geass (granted by VV) in R2. Lelouch didn't just geass Alexander again for the same reason he didn't want to geass Suzaku.) **


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

_**Atsugi Base, Area 11, December 2017 ATB. **_

"General ! Communication incoming from Princess Euphemia's MCV!"

"What!" General Carl Scarrow looked up, astonished. "What is the message?"

"They say they managed to escape from the SAZ during the fighting!" the comm-officer called back. "They're carrying wounded!"

"Open the gates!" Scarrow ordered, without a second thought. "Let them in! Inform the hospital!"

His orders were quickly relayed throughout the base. In the hospital block, doctors and nurses readied their equipment, packing medkits and preparing stretchers. Out on the base's curtain wall, the soldiers maintained their vigilance, gazing into the darkness in search of the enemy. Searchlights shone down from the towers that punctuated the wall every hundred metres, sweeping back and forth across the dead ground beyond. Any enemy they spotted would be gunned down in an instant by the automated sentry guns concealed behind armoured gunports inside the towers.

Atsugi base was a fortress in the truest sense of the word. It was primarily an air base, supporting four full squadrons of F-24 _White Knight _fighters, responsible for the protection of Tokyo Settlement from enemy air or sea attack. So vital in fact that the Britannian forces had seen fit to circle the base with curtain walls, and even to furnish it with its own garrison. A half-strength battalion of four hundred mechanized infantry, complete with vehicles and support personnel, and a platoon of eighteen knightmares.

The expense had been considerable, beyond what would normally be considered appropriate for such a facility. But just as Atsugi base was vital to the security of Tokyo Settlement, so was Area 11 vital to the security and prosperity of the Holy Empire of Britannia. No expense had been spared to turn the islands, once called Japan, into an impregnable fortress, ensuring a secure supply of Sakuradite for years to come.

To be part of such an undertaking, and to command so important a base, was a source of no small pride to General Scarrow, and to his officers. To the enlisted men and women, both of the army and air force contingents, Base Kanagawa was a cushy number. The local insurgents _never _attacked the base, and their mere presence was enough to keep the Prefecture surrounding Kanagawa settlement in check.

The general glanced back and forth from the window to the strategic display, resisting the urge to pace. He was as unsettled and over-wrought as anyone else in the base, though it was his particular duty to conceal that fact. The hours had been dragging on since the dreadful events at the Specially-Administered Zone of Japan. Scarrow knew so very little, except that Princess Euphemia had been shot, perhaps fatally, and that Zero was now leading some sort of uprising, blaming the Britannians for the Princess' death.

To be so passive, forbidden to act, was galling in the extreme. Scarrow knew that his troops were restless, yearning to be sent out to fight the wretched rebels, who _dared _to claim that the most beloved Princess Euphemia had been murdered by her own people. Scarrow felt the same way, aching to unleash his fighters upon the rebel forces, to scour their filthy nests with gas and napalm, to blast them from the face of the Earth as they so richly deserved.

But there were no orders. No orders, and no reliable information. Just a comm jammed with transmissions, many of them so panic-stricken as to be incomprehensible. Bases and minor settlements screaming for reinforcements, reports of Elevens swarming in their hundreds of thousands, some of them bearing images of Princess Euphemia before them as if on some kind of pilgrimage.

It was horrific. It was mind-boggling. But there was nothing to be done without orders. In the Britannian forces the chain of command was near-absolute, and the authority of an Imperial Prince or Princess could be over-ridden only by three ranking generals or a more senior member of the Imperial family. Of the latter, none were forthcoming.

To make matters worse, Scarrow could not help but think that Princess Cornelia was bound to snap sooner or later, that a princess should not be commanding Britannia's forces. The thought galled and shamed him, not least because she had proven herself a thousand times over. It made him shudder, for he could remember the days when she had first taken up the post of Chief General, when just about the entire top brass were against her for one reason or another. Some feared for their careers in the face of her reforming zeal, while others, himself included at the time, snorted at the thought of being ordered around by a princess, even the Second Princess.

They had not known what they were dealing with.

The first to pay the price had been a certain Major General Ernest Woodville. A ringleader among the officers determined to resist their new commander, he had done everything imaginable to get in her way and annoy her. The climax had been when he told her, in front of the General Staff, to go back to Chalcedon Palace and sew something.

The Princess' response had been a bullet through his right eye.

Scarrow shook the thoughts away. He _had _to figure out what to do, how to respond to everything that was happening. But there was _nothing, _literally _nothing_, to go on. He had ordered the comm officer to keep a channel open to the HQ in Kanagawa settlement, but the Prefect kept insisting that everything was under control. Scarrow was confident of that, for the Prefect had, on his advice, unleashed his own battalion of troops on the rioting Elevens with orders to hold nothing back. No squeamishness there.

He just hoped the men and women aboard the MCV had some news. It would be the first real news in many hours.

Scarrow glanced down the main road, which gave him a clear view of the main gate. Sure enough, there was the leonine shape of the G-1 MCV, looking a tad worse for wear. Scarrow watched it intently as it rolled along the road between the guard towers, over the dead ground behind the wall, and between two fortified barrack blocks, which between them housed one of the four infantry companies and its APCs. As it drew closer and closer he could make out the pits and scrapes, its dark blue livery pocked and scorched. He wondered for a moment what the mighty landcruiser must have endured in the battles around the SAZ, and in fleeing across the countryside.

The MCV came to a halt on the parade ground in front of the HQ tower. Scarrow turned his head, calling out an order to send in the medics. As he turned back to the window again, he was mildly surprised to see the long barrel of the MCV's chin-mounted railgun elevating to point straight at him. He opened his mouth to call to the comm officer, to ask what on Earth they were playing at.

The railgun fired.

* * *

_**Yokohama Settlement**_

Chief of Staff Kyoshiroh Tohdoh suspected that he looked foolish.

It was probably not wise for him to be standing his custom _Gekka _knightmare on top of an armoured train, as if he were some sort of latter-day train robber. Aside from the bad example it was setting, it left him vulnerable if any Britannian with a degree of firepower at his disposal were to see him.

But for the moment it was the only way he could get a decent view of the battle.

The hard-faced colonel tweaked his camera zoom, focussing on a particular group of figures. The image on his screen moved slowly to his left as the train, which someone had seen fit to name _Black Turtle,_ trundled along. He could see the cluster of fighters clearly, scrambling up a pile of rubble that had once been two walls of an office block, rifles at the ready. Tohdoh noted with some satisfaction their formation and caution, as one of them poked her head so very carefully over the top of the mound, then gestured for her fellows to follow.

Colonel Mannequin had done a good job of training the Skirted Devils, Tohdoh thought. It was merely unfortunate that she had not persuaded them to exchange their…_distinctive _costume for something a little more conventional. Having actually seen them in battle for the first time, he suspected that the rumour about them looting their _serafuku_ uniforms from cosplay warehouses was true. No daughter of his would have gone to school dressed like that.

If he had a say in anything, let alone a daughter, she wouldn't be fighting for her life, or to free her country from foreign oppression.

Tohdoh put the thoughts aside, zooming back out for wider look. The government bureau, the target of their current offensive, was just visible beyond the office blocks. The building itself was a tall, broad-based, blocky-looking tower, not unlike that of the Tokyo Settlement HQ. If the intelligence provided by Diethard was accurate, then the building was not only heavily-armoured, but equipped with remote-controlled gun turrets.

It would take heavy firepower to break that building, firepower of which the resistance forces possessed little. Only a small amount of the former JLF's stock of tanks and light artillery pieces had been saved, though the Black Knights had managed to steal some Britannian _Caliburn _tanks, and the black market had furnished thousands of largely Chinese-made RPGs and ATGMs. The tanks and ATGMs were powerful enough to destroy the exposed turrets, but they could only attack with direct fire, facing the deadly weapons in the open.

There could be only one method, one strategy. They had to surround the bureau, trapping the remaining Britannian forces in an ever-tightening cordon, while they got their heavy weapons into position. That was what they had planned; him, Colonel Mannequin, and the others. They had spent the journey from Mount Fuji planning it, inside the command carriage of the _Black Turtle, _deciding on which streets and parks the tanks would use, and which buildings the infantry with the ATGMs would hide in.

They could not fail. They could not be delayed. With Yokohama secure, they would be free to head north to Tokyo, and victory. Zero's plan had been activated ahead of time, and the margin of error was no more than a few hours. Any more, and the entire schedule would be thrown into disorder. They could not afford mistakes.

And Kyoshiroh Tohdoh would not fail. He could not allow himself to, not after what he had seen as he and his troops had entered the city.

He zoomed out again, looking around for the Britannian forces. He could not believe they would fold so easily, not without at least _one _last push.

He saw it. The grey shapes rolling along a street of shattered buildings, thinking they had gone unnoticed.

"Tohdoh to command. Enemy armour to the north-east, heading south. Request sitrep."

"Confirmed," replied Kati Mannequin's no-nonsense voice. "Zero reports mission complete."

"Understood." There was something familiar, almost comforting about communication during a battle. It was neat, orderly, and honest. It was information in its purest form, and in perfect context. There could be no misunderstanding, no misinterpretation.

No lies.

"Targeting," he said, keying for remote targeting. "Datalink is green." The forward gun carriage's main turret began to rotate. Tohdoh felt his body tensing up, as he counted down the seconds.

The lead tank stopped suddenly. Tohdoh's heart clenched as the oblong-bored railgun came up, the turret swivelling towards him.

Time stood still, and all Tohdoh could hear was the blood roaring like thunder in his ears. He stared down the distant gun barrel, wondering in that instant when it would fire, and put an end to him.

The tank exploded.

"Tank kill!" came a triumphant voice over the comm. "Forward carriage claims a tank kill!"

"Kill confirmed!" Tohdoh almost barked, willing the cold sickness to drain out of him.

"We'll leave you that one!" came another voice, this one familiar. "But we'll take the others!" Then he saw them, the turquoise _Gekka_ knightmares swarming over the rubble. In an instant they were in among the tanks and APCs, and the ruined street was lit up with explosions.

"Shisei-ken." Tohdoh felt pride warm him. "Well struck."

"Think nothing of it, Chief of Staff," replied Ryoga Senba's growl.

"What're your holy swords for, if not to strike your enemies?" asked Kosetsu Urabe rhetorically.

"That's all of them," added Nagisa Chiba. "This zone is secure."

"Very good." Tohdoh checked his comm screen. "Did you get that, command?"

"Yes sir," Kati replied. "All units in position. Ready to fire on your order."

Tohdoh narrowed his eyes. He could have sworn he had heard something from Chiba's channel, like a sharp exhalation, or maybe a hiss.

"All units, fire on my order." He didn't have time to deal with it. And he didn't know how in any case.

"Fire!"

* * *

_**Battlegroup Anahita, Phillipine Sea. **_

They had been waiting for a long time.

The officers of the IKS _Anahita, _clad in their uniforms of blue and gold, clustered around the ornate door of the VIP quarters, their eyes fixed upon it. No decisions could be made, no course of action decided upon, until they heard from those inside.

It was starting to get on their nerves.

That they had so little information made it worse. They knew only that some sort of uprising had broken out in Area 11, and that Princess Marina had escaped safely. The latter they knew for a fact, because they had seen her alight from her VTOL just over an hour earlier. She had been pale and unresponsive, her guards having almost to carry her. It was something they had seen before, and it did not bode well.

All looked up as the door to the Princess' outer chambers slid open. Cyrus Abdullah stepped through, still wearing the white uniform and red cloak that marked him as the Knight of Two. The officers kept their faces straight, their hidden feelings running from professional indifference to a sullen resentment. For some, Krugis' unique dual status as the Kingdom of Krugis _and _Area Seven of the Empire of Britannia was an unsettling predicament, a nation that was neither enslaved nor entirely free. Cyrus Abdullah had, from the moment he accepted his current position, become a living symbol of Krugis' current arrangement.

After him came Shirin Bakhtiar, the Princess' personal advisor. Her face, which normally bore an insincere smile, was set as hard as her eyes. The officers knew better than to make light of her, whether for herself or for her connections. Aside from her links to the Royal House, her uncle was the Prime Minister.

"Gentlemen," Shirin said, her tone formal. "The _Shahzadi _is currently indisposed."

"Then perhaps we can decide on what to do about our current situation," Admiral Kayan Byandor replied testily.

"Is there any word from the homeland?" Cyrus asked.

"We have sent word of the situation, Lord Abdullah." Byandor managed to keep his tone tolerably respectful. "But there has been no reply, nor do I expect one."

Shirin sighed inwardly. She could feel their wills butting like mountain goats, each seeking to force the other back and dominate the encounter. The relatively young Cyrus was a proud and stoic warrior, but Byandor was every bit as proud. The ageing admiral was the first Persian to command a real blue-water fleet since the long-past days of the Achaemenids. The name of Krugis' first carrier, _Anahita_, was itself a reference to that heritage. The honour of such a post would make any man haughty.

Shirin understood this, only too well. She had spent her whole life surrounded by men made cantankerous by pride and conviction, and knew how easily a civilized meeting could deteriorate into infantile slanging matches and tantrums.

It was enough to make her grit her teeth. To think that all those two could do was huff and puff at one-another while Princess Marina was paralyzed by grief.

Shirin knew she had been hard on her young charge. She made no apology for it, for though Marina Ismail had always meant well, she had not always known what best to do, or how best to deal with those who would take her for everything she had. She had done and best to guide and advise her princess, and had taken more than a little pride in her achievements.

But she could be of no help now. She did not have time to comfort Marina as she grieved for her old friend, the murdered Princess Euphemia, and did not know how in any case. There had been no choice but to leave her alone, to let her weep out her sorrow in the privacy of her inner chambers. Best to get it out of her system now, and then endure the long emptiness until the time came to smile again.

Shirin Bakhtiar knew something of that.

"Then our duty is clear," Cyrus spoke up. "We must intervene to assist the Britannians."

"Respectfully, _Lord _Abdullah." Byandor's mask of civility was beginning to slip. "Ours are the only warships in the area. The Britannian Pacific fleet is many days away, and their forces in Area 11 are being overrun by the rebels. There are also signs of activity by the Chinese forces, and there may be submarines off the coast. This is a dangerous situation."  
"That, admiral, is precisely _why _we must intervene," Cyrus insisted. "We are the only forces that can offer assistance. To do otherwise is to break faith with Britannia, our ally and benefactor."

"It is one thing to offer assistance," Byandor retorted. "But quite another to throw lives away uselessly. If the Chinese come out in force before the Britannians arrive, we will not be able to stop them."

"Are you saying you will not go, admiral?" Cyrus' tone was dark and dangerous.

"I am saying, Lord Abdullah, that you have no authority to order us to go."

Shirin rolled her eyes.

* * *

_**The Roxelana**_

"Anything?"

"Nothing." Graham Aker's face was as dark as he strode up to them. "They said there were no orders and we should just stand by."

"Stand by?" Sir Daryl Dodge spluttered. "They expect us to stand by? Our people are getting killed out there!"

"I _did _tell them that," Graham snarked, unable to conceal his frustration. "They can't seem to make up their minds what to do about it."

"What about the fleet?" Sir Howard Mason asked. "Is there any word from Pearl?"

"None from there," Graham replied. "Prince Odysseus and Prince Schneizel are in council there now, but no orders."

It was all the knights could do not to groan aloud. Graham had met Crown Prince Odysseus once, and had found him to be a cultured, gracious, and genuinely kind man, who under better circumstances would have made a fine Emperor. But he did not hold up well under pressure, becoming indecisive when assailed with too much in too little time. As much as Graham respected him personally, he knew he could not expect a swift decision from the Crown Prince, unless his younger half-brother chose to act on his own initiative.

And even if he did, it would take three days at the very least for the Pacific fleet to reach Area 11 in force.

Three days, in which Zero was effectively free to run riot. Princess Euphemia was dead, murdered by persons unknown, and Princess Cornelia was nowhere to be found. All he knew was that she had cancelled the deployment orders and locked herself in her late sister's chambers, ignoring all entreaties from her staff officers.

Area 11 was in revolt. All that stood between one hundred and fifty million Japanese and Britannia's primary supply of Sakuradite was a few hundred-thousand troops and a few million helpless settlers.

And Britannia was effectively leaderless.

Graham looked from one to the other of his followers. Daryl Dodge and Howard Mason were angry and agitated. If he were to head off to Area 11 himself, they would follow without hesitation. Dame Soma Peries was her usual stoic self, staring at him through golden eyes. Sir Andrei Smirnov had his head lowered, his eyes cast in shadow.

"Sir Andrei."

"They can't say that." His voice was hoarse, and as harsh as Graham had ever heard. The others looked up at the sight of it.

"They can't say we did it," Andrei went on, shuddering with what Graham only then saw was burning rage. "They can't say we killed her!"

"Sir Andrei…"

"It was _them!_" Andrei erupted, his eyes bulging. "Those EU infiltrators! They killed her to help Zero! It must be them!" Daryl and Howard looked at one-another in bemusement.

"I fail to see the connection," Soma spoke up, deadpan. "Assassinating beloved princesses isn't normally their style."

"It was them!" Andrei roared, beyond reason. "I _know _I heard EU code at the prison! The EU's trying to undermine Area 11!"

"Enough, Sir Andrei!" Graham barked, ending Andrei's tirade. "Dame Soma is right! It doesn't matter who's responsible, not now!"

"Then _what_ do we do?" demanded Daryl. Graham did not reply straight away. He stepped away from his subordinates, and gazed up at the black ATI knightmare kneeling at the end of the hold. It was a custom model, programmed using his personal data.

"While these machines are strictly speaking still the property of the Kingdom of Krugis," he said, loudly enough that his followers could hear him, "_we _most definitely are not." He half-turned, his old smile creasing his face.

"A test flight, Major?" Soma asked.

"A test flight, Dame Soma."

* * *

_**Kohoku Ward**_

He seemed so innocent, lying there in her arms.

So Louise thought as she looked across the pillow at her lover's face. The pain and grief she had seen there a few hours ago had faded, retreated within his soul. Saji had slept for the whole of that time, since not long after they had finished.

She didn't regret the act itself, not for a moment. It wasn't how she had hoped their first time would be, but if not a moment of transcendent joy it had at least not been meaningless.

There had been nothing wrong physically. If anything, Saji's tormented state had made him…well, words like _ardent _or _energetic_ didn't quite cut it. She could not deny that she had enjoyed the experience. She had enjoyed straddling him, pressing her naked body down against his, kissing his tear-stained cheeks, letting him thrust up and into her.

It was the look in his eyes that had unsettled her. It was what she had seen as his eyes stared up into hers, that look of unrelenting need, of utter adoration.

He _worshipped _her.

Louise sighed. Before, back in those innocent days, she might have liked the idea of being worshipped by a man. Perhaps that was why she had chosen him, back when they were children, in that school in Brussels. Maybe that was what had made her go up to him and demand to know why he was always by himself, and then declare him her boyfriend.

But she had never thought she would actually experience it. Back then it had been a bit of fun, her own little round of the gender war. It had amused her to force herself on Saji, rebuffing his stammering objections, always hoping that no matter how much he tried to refuse her, he didn't _completely _hate it.

Of course he didn't. She had told herself that he didn't, or else he would have put up more resistance, or tried harder to avoid her. A part of him must have started to enjoy it after a while. Or else why would he have come to Spain with her that time?

Ironic, that an act of such selfishness could have saved his life. And she could not deny that she had thought only of herself, of her desire to have fun with Saji. She had harassed and harangued him into agreeing, using every trick she knew, the big watery eyes included. One less week with his family hadn't seemed like much of a sacrifice at the time, not when she was ten years old.

Louise sat up, gently disentangling herself from the peacefully-sleeping Saji. She stepped out of bed, marvelling at the luxury of the room. It was just like the Britannians to have a luxury en-suite room on an MCV, especially if it was for the personal use of a Princess. She stood up and padded towards the dressing table, and the vanity mirror set above it.

She took in her reflection. Even in the low light, and having been unable to properly wash or use cosmetics in several weeks, it was an impressive sight, or at least she thought so. Her skin was pale and smooth, her breasts ample and inviting, her hair like flowing gold, her eyes big and bright.

Louise giggled softly, as she imagined one of Euphemia's expensive dresses covering her body. She had fantasized about wearing of them, and her jewellery and makeup, playing Princess one more time, maybe to turn Saji on.

There had been no chance of it. Zero had ordered every last item of Euphemia's inventoried, boxed, and secured in her residence at the SAZ, which he placed under heavy military guard. It was curiously reverent of him, she had thought. Or perhaps it was just some vestige of common decency. Perhaps he just didn't want sticky-fingered hawkers pawing through her things, seeking yet more holy relics to sell.

Her amusement faded as she ran her fingers through her long blonde hair. Was she really any different to them? Could she say she was better than them, when she too had thought of looting a dead Princess' possessions? They, at least, had no interest but money. The sin in her thoughts had been far worse.

She had wanted to look beautiful. She had thought of tapping into Euphemia's beauty, of taking it for herself. She had wanted to be as beautiful as Euphemia, for Saji…

Oh _why_? Why did he have to follow her? Why did he have to become a soldier like her? Hadn't his dream been to go into space? Had he needed the money that badly?

It had been hard enough to become a soldier herself. Her mother had been dead against it, ranting and shrieking about how hard it would be, that she was a girl and shouldn't fight, that she might get herself killed. Even her father had tried to talk her out of it, in that wheedling way he used when he took his wife's side without really wanting to. She had lost her temper, accusing them of hypocrisy for being quite willing to give money to EUROFORCE, yet unwilling to give their daughter.

Things had been said, that should not have been said.

It hadn't really been a sense of honour or obligation that had made her join EUROFORCE. She had spent too long playing the role of a spoiled little rich girl, concealing her fears and weaknesses behind a veil she had forgotten how to take off. She had gotten frustrated, wanting to prove that there was more to her than that. She had wanted to show her true strength, that she could let go of herself and pursue her goals with absolute determination.

She had failed. She hadn't really changed. She was still Louise Halevy.

For an instant she saw Kallen in the mirror, glaring back at her. Hard-edged Kallen Kozuki, beautiful yet caring nothing for her beauty. Strong, ruthless, utterly determined, and utterly devoted.

She had been jealous.

Louise sat down at the vanity, and opened the top draw, hoping that the relatively mundane item she sought had not been taken. It hadn't. She glanced momentarily at the clock, and saw she had a couple of hours before they reached the outskirts of Tokyo Settlement.

Louise withdrew her hand, carrying in it the heavy, sharp-bladed scissors. She stared straight into the mirror, and began to cut her golden hair.

* * *

_**Britannian HQ, Tokyo Settlement**_

The HQ was in chaos.

Alexander could see it as he strode along the corridors. He could feel it in the air around him, the insidious tremor that seemed to run straight to his heart. It was fear, the fear that soldiers felt when they were leaderless and under pressure.

He kept his gaze straight ahead, ignoring the looks on their faces as they stood aside to let him pass. Some of them almost jumped at the walls in undignified haste, so shaken were they, and so dark was his countenance.

Alexander had never seen anything like it. He never would have believed that Britannian soldiers could fall apart in that way. But that was what was happening, and he understood why. There was only one thing that could reverse it, one person who could snap them out of it.

His phone was ringing. He ignored it.

Alexander felt his heart ache as he reached the doors of Princess Euphemia's quarters. He knew the feeling well, for it was the same as he had felt in the days following Lady Marianne's murder. He knew it would pass before long, replaced with a bewildered numbness that was in its own way almost as bad. It had taken him some time to come to terms with the loss of that irreplaceable woman.

Staff officers and functionaries clustered around the door, muttering among themselves about one thing or another. Alexander could tell by looking that no matter what they said or the looks on their faces, they were _all _afraid.

Alexander knew that he had to go in there, to confront her and make his report. It was his _duty _to report to her, to somehow persuade her out of her mourning and take command.

To tell her of how he had failed Euphie, the sister they had both loved.

Steeling himself, Alexander stepped towards the door, which slid open to admit him. He stepped through, the door sliding shut behind him.

The rooms were dark, lit only by the dancing flames of the main fireplace. Willing his pounding heart to slow, Alexander forced himself onward, through the foyer and into the receiving room.

His heart flew to his mouth as he saw his princess, sitting on the rug before the fireplace, the firelight casting her face in writhing shadows. He stood to attention, unable to think of anything to say. Her eyes met his.

And then in the blink of an eye she was upon him. Her arms clamped around him, almost crushing him against her. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest, and the beating of her heart. He could smell her hair against his face.

"Oh Alexander…" Her voice was hoarse. "My Alexander…"

"My Princess…" Alexander returned the embrace as the shameful tears ran down his cheeks. He could not stop himself.

"I thought I'd lost you" Cornelia whispered. "I can't lose you, my precious Alexander. Not you too."

"Please…forgive me." His voice was as hoarse as hers, hoarse from the weeping he had dared not allow himself. "I…I _tried…_"

"I know."

They stood as they were for what seemed like an eternity, neither able to say anything. The coals crackled in the grate. Eventually they stepped apart, looking each other in the eyes. Cornelia pulled a lace-trimmed hankerchief from her pocket, and before Alexander could speak she began dabbing gently at his eyes, drying the tears. This done, she stepped away from him and turned around, composing herself.

Alexander did not begrudge for a moment. Some would have called it cruel and inhuman, the straitjacket of protocol, but he knew it was not so. Cornelia was doing as she had been taught her whole life, fulfilling the responsibility that he as a noble shared. News of Euphie's death would plunge the empire into mourning, of that he was certain. It was for that reason that Cornelia wept only in private, denying her grief so that others could grieve, becoming the rock upon which they could stand. If she showed her sorrow to those outside, if she broke the illusion, then all hope would be lost.

Such was what it meant to be royalty. Such was the price of power.

"Where is Euphie now?" Her voice had regained a little of its old vigour.

"Aboard the _Avalon_, your highness."

"You were with her?"

"Yes." Alexander paused, a lump rising in his throat. "The medics did all they could. There…there was no pain."

"Did…she say anything?"

"She said…that she was sorry." He could not bring himself to say any more, to say what she had told him about the grieving woman standing in front of him.

"_She loves you so much, but she can't say it. __She needs you. __Promise me…"_

"Do you know what it is, Alexander…" Cornelia's voice was low and bitter. "To have said something you can never take back? To have things you so desperately want to say, and yet can never ever say them?"

"I…know something of it, your highness."

"I never told her, Alexander." The pain and regret in her voice touched Alexander to the heart. "I never told her…how much she meant to me, how _important _she was. I never…apologised for the things I said."

"She…knew in her heart that you loved her, your highness." It was a presumptuous thing to say, but Alexander was beyond protocol. "She never held it against you."

"Oh but she did," Cornelia retorted bitterly. "A part of her did, at least. Not for anything I said, but for what I tried to make her into, for what I tried to make her give up."

"Your highness?"

"You weren't there when we were young, Alexander. You don't know…how _hard _it was before she came." Cornelia paused, and Alexander wondered what she was trying to tell him. It felt awkward to stand there as she poured out her heart, but there was nothing he could do about it.

"Mother…despised me," Cornelia went on. "I couldn't be the daughter she wanted, though it wasn't for her lack of trying. Those other girls never said anything to my face, but I knew they were talking behind my back, _laughing _at me. Even Schneizel laughed at me. Only Lady Marianne understood me." Alexander felt tears pricking at his eyes.

"When Euphie was born things got better." Cornelia's tone lightened a little. "She could do all those things, and more. The courtiers, her companions, even the servants, they _all _adored her. If you'd only seen her then, Alexander…"

Alexander knew what she meant. There had always been something bright, pure, and beautiful about Euphie, even all those years ago. Whether playing with Lelouch and Nunnally, or being shown off to courtiers, it made no difference. It was that radiance, that grace, that had touched them all, no matter what she was wearing or how she behaved. Alexander could understand why Suzaku had loved her so, and how whole nations had thrown themselves at her feet.

"Mother saw it too," Cornelia went on. "She wanted Euphie to become Empress someday…and so did I."

"She had it in her, your highness," Alexander said loyally.

"Of course she did!" Cornelia snapped. "But that's all she saw, all _I _saw! All I could think about was keeping her safe, and how I could help her become Empress! I _swore _that I would support her, with every fibre of my being, and every last drop of my blood! I _swore _it…because I wanted my mother to be proud of me." She trailed off, and Alexander could not think of anything to say.

"She could have done it," she almost growled. "She could've _saved _this wretched empire! Saved it from itself! She could've saved us all from our greed, our hatred, our _fear_! She could've _changed the world_ Alexander!"

There was a long silence, and Alexander wondered at the bitterness and frustration on her words. He never would have believed she could say such things even in grief, that she could denounce the empire she had worked so hard to expand and maintain, whose ideals she had been proud to uphold.

Did even _she _wonder if it was right? Did ruling over the Numbers weigh on her conscience as it had begun to weigh on his? Had she done it _all_ for Euphie? Had she tried to conquer the world so that Euphie could rule it, and bring true peace and happiness to all humanity?

Had she dared to dream such a thing was possible?

Could she live without that dream?

"She was…always kind to me, your highness." In spite of everything, Alexander felt himself smile. "When I needed it the most. Even at Colchester…" He trailed off as, to his astonishment and relief, Cornelia actually laughed.

"Yes," she said through her laughter. "She told me all about that."

Alexander would never forget the day of his graduation from the Colchester cadet school. She had been there, part of the royal delegation for the event. During the party afterwards she had sought him out and greeted him in front of his classmates, even putting her arm through his as if they were old friends, which in a sense they were. He would never forget the looks on his classmates' faces, and how they had bowed and scraped and flattered. She had spoken to all of them, remembering younger sisters or cousins among her companions to them. Those of them who had accompanied him to the military academy a few months later had been _considerably _more respectful than they had been before that day.

"As I recall though," she went on. "She wasn't above showing you off to her friends."

_That _made Alexander blush, though he could not help but smile. Euphie's companions could never get enough of him, in part because they had been reaching _that _age and he had been the only boy within easy reach.

Alexander actually found himself wondering what would have happened if _she _had been the first of Queen Amelia's daughters to meet him. Might he have fallen for her as he had fallen for her older sister? It was possible, for he knew there and then that the only thing preventing it had been Cornelia's first claim on his heart.

"I…wish we had more time, Alexander." Cornelia straightened up, still with her back to him. "What have you to report?" The warmth faded as Alexander cleared his throat.

"Our forces are in disarray, your highness. We've lost contact with fifty-eight of our independent bases, and the rest are all under heavy attack except Torashima. We've also lost contact with thirty-two minor settlements, and all remaining settlements are reporting massive rioting and attacks by organised rebel contingents. All inter-city monorail lines have been cut at multiple points. Three main concentrations are currently converging on Tokyo from the north, the south-west, and the east, and are expected to arrive within six hours. They're using the rail network to move their forces quickly, and intelligence believes they've constructed rail spurs from the inner regions to bring up the forces hiding there."

"We should've torn up the whole network," Cornelia growled. "How quickly could such spurs be built?"

"Intelligence estimates in the hundreds of metres per hour with modern equipment," Alexander went on. "Considering how easily the tracks could be hidden, this could have been going on for weeks."

"So, they can move and we can't," Cornelia said in a low voice. "Are the Chinese moving?"

"Caer Myddyn reports full mobilisation of air force elements. Their northern fleet has deployed into the East China Sea, and their southern fleet appears to be readying. Naval command has reported multiple possible sonar contacts along our Pacific shelf net. Reinforcements from Hawaii will arrive in seventy-six hours at best speed." It surprised Alexander, even then, how matter-of-factly he could describe the unfolding nightmare.

"So…we are alone." Even in the low light, Alexander could see a darkness descend on Cornelia. "Where is Zero?"

"With the south-western rebels at Kanagawa, your highness. The Black Knights are confirmed to be with him, as are the Skirted Devils and the White Sash Brigade."

The thought of Zero made Alexander feel sick inside. He knew he should tell her, reveal to her the horrid truth, for with Euphemia dead he was free of any obligation to conceal it. But could she cope with such a revelation? Did she really need to know?

"And our forces?"

"General Darlton took command as he arrived. The mobile corps, the garrison, the Knight Police, and your guards stand ready." No reply. "We _will _stop them, your highness!"

He knew they could. Over fifty thousand well-trained, heavily-armed, and superbly-led troops were guarding a city designed from the bottom up for defence. Zero would need ten times that number at least, or overwhelming firepower, to overcome such defences with any kind of speed.

But still she would not look at him, and Alexander felt his heart sink as the seconds ticked on. Had she fallen into despair?

"Alexander." Finally she spoke, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "Are you still…my knight?" In that moment, he understood.

"Always and forever, my noble Princess Cornelia." Cornelia made a sound that might have been a chuckle.

"Come then, knight of mine." Cornelia strode over to the sofa and picked up her white cape, throwing it around her shoulders with a flourish. As she turned her eyes upon him, Alexander's heart leapt to see the noble strength return anew. "Let's settle this business."

"Yes!" Alexander snapped to attention and saluted. "Your highness!"

* * *

"This is a disaster! A catastrophe!"

Livonze Almark did his best not to roll his eyes. Asprius Bartley had never been good at hiding his feelings. While watching the portly general throw a fit was mildly entertaining, it was hardly helpful.

"Really, General Bartley," he said. "This is hardly cause for panic."

"Hardly cause?" Bartley spluttered. "The whole Area is rising up against us! We'll all be killed!"

"You do not have faith in Princess Cornelia?" Livonze smirked. "You think a ravening horde of Numbers is any match for our Britannian forces?"

"You don't understand!" Bartley bellowed, so loudly that some of the Code-R scientists and technicians looked up at the sound. Bartley paused, glancing nervously back and forth.

"They're coming in their tens of thousands!" he went on, keeping his voice low. "They have the settlement surrounded! Our only option is to escape by air!"

"But can we do that, General?" Livonze asked condescendingly. "Can we really get all this valuable equipment loaded onto the transports in time? What about the prototypes? And your _friend _over there." He nodded his head in the direction of the suspension tube set into the nearby wall. Three times the height of a man, glowing yellow-orange in the lamplight, bubbles rising through the suspension fluid. In it floated a figure that had once been a man, its left side covered with newly-crafted cybernetic enhancements. Tubes coiled and snaked around it, running from the top and bottom of the tube to interface ports in the subject's back, giving the look of some bizarre sea creature.

"We _have _to!" Bartley replied. "We can't afford to lose him _or _the _Siegfried_ protoypes!"

"There _really _is no need," Livonze insisted, still smiling. "If things become so desperate, we can always send them into battle."

"He's not ready yet!" Bartley protested. "In his current mental state there's no telling what he would do! And as for _your_ pilot…!" Bartley trailed off, unable to speak of what he had witnessed. Livonze's smile widened in amusement.

"I assure you general, my pilot is _more _than capable. Besides, he is one of very few people capable of handling the GN-variant _Siegfried _at its full capacity. Yours certainly couldn't."

"I don't know where you found that …that _thing_!" Bartley snarled, eyes bulging in mingled fury and fear. "But something like that can't be controlled it battle! It'll just as likely attack our troops as the enemy!"

"That's very prejudicial of you, General Bartley," Livonze retorted, sounding far more wounded than he actually felt. "Just because he's a little…_enthusiastic_."

"Enthusiastic isn't the word!" Bartley roared. "That thing's a butcher, a madman! He's worse than Bradley!"

"And yet…" Livonze eyed him. "He may be the only thing between us and the Black Knights. That is, if you really can't bring yourself to use _your _pilot."

"Bah!" Bartley snapped. "We don't have time for this!" He turned to his subordinates. "Hurry! We have to get the test subject back to the homeland!"

"Internal pressure is rising!" called one of the technicians. The alarm beeped as the glass tube began to crack, liquid spraying out between the cracks. Bartley let out a yell, covering his face as the glass shattered, the liquid gushing out to spill over the floor, the test subject tumbling out with it.

"Now, of all times!" Bartley groaned, as the figure stood up. Its eyes, one real, one artificial, were locked on Bartley.

"Good morning..."

* * *

_**The Outer Block**_

How many were there?

General Darlton could not say. All he could see was a blanket of lights across the ghetto, as if fireflies were swarming like locusts between the ruins. He zoomed in his _Gloucester_'s camera, bringing the approaching enemies into tighter focus.

His jaw set at the sight of the MCV, leading the horde from the front. The once-proud Britannian flags upon its flanks had been defaced, crudely sprayed-over with red paint, the desecration hammering home the horror of it. For a G-1 Mobile Command Vehicle to fall into enemy hands intact was unheard-of, an embarrassment beyond compare.

The fact that it had been _her _MCV made it even worse.

Darlton tried very hard _not _to think about her, to keep her face, and her fate, from his thoughts. He could not afford to dwell on her, to grieve for her. Not when battle was almost upon him.

He didn't want to think about what his Princess must have been going through. He had watched over those two young women, those beautiful sisters, from the moment they were born. At times, he had dared to think of them as the daughters he had never had, and it almost seemed as if they returned that sentiment. He had loved them, watched over them, risked his life over them, without a moment's hesitation or regret.

He could not say he had not been rewarded. He had risen high in Princess Cornelia's service, far higher than his plain birth would normally allow. But the material rewards could not compare to the look in their eyes.

And now, one pair of those eyes had closed forever.

He hadn't been there. He hadn't made it in time. That…_boy _had run to Alexander first.

Darlton forced the anger and resentment down, loathing and despising it. To blame Rai was as unworthy as it was unjust.

"_Princess…_"

He felt the weight of responsibility upon him, the weight of command. Even with Guilford a few meters away, inside his own _Gloucester_, he felt so very alone.

"_Princess…please…_" Shameful tears pricked at his eyes. "_I can't do this. I can't do this by myself._"

For he realised in those few moments that he had never been without her. Always he had been following her orders, following her plan. Even if she wasn't right there, even if she was miles away doing something else, she had always been with him.

With all of them.

"_Princess…your Andre has let you down. Princess…we need you…_"

"General Darlton."

Fire blazed through his being as he heard the voice over the comm.

"Princess…!" he blurted out, shocked out of the darkness.

"General Darlton!" Yes, it was her. It was the voice he knew so well. "What's your situation?"

And there she was. There was her icon on the tactical screen, moving up behind him with two others. Darlton turned his knightmareto face them, and saw the familiar shape of Princess Cornelia's custom _Gloucester. _Behind it was another Royal Guard _Gloucester,_ and next to it yet another _Gloucester, _painted pale grey. Andreas Darlton's heart leapt.

"Darlton?" The voice sounded almost concerned. He would have to scold her for it, if he remembered.

"All units in position, your highness," he said, falling back into that familiar pattern. "Checked, set, and done."

"Very good, thank you General." A moment's pause. "Are you all right, General?"

"I'm fine, your highness." He felt awkward saying it, but it was broadly true. "Your highness, please…"  
"No." The word was gently spoken, but somehow enough to cut him off. "No regrets, my noble Darlton. Euphie wouldn't want that." Darlton felt his heart swell. Though her face was concealed inside her knightmare, he could not help but bow his head."

"Thank you, your highness."

"Hear me my knights!" Cornelia proclaimed, halting in the midst of her followers. "There is no retreat from this battle! If this settlement falls, our people will be slaughtered. If Area 11 falls, Britannia will fall! We must hold this settlement, hold the line, for three days until reinforcements arrive from the homeland!"

"Your highness," Guilford interjected. "He's here." They all looked across to the oncoming horde. In the sky above it was a single star, resolving into a tall, black-armoured knightmare as it approached.

_Gawain._

"Hear me Britannia!" roared the voice they had all grown to hate. "This is Zero! A rebel against oppressors who abuse their power! We will wait until midnight! You have until then to surrender to me! This is your only warning! Heed it!"

"Let him bark all he pleases!" Cornelia retorted. "It won't…what the…?" It took a moment for Darlton to realise that her _Gloucester _was staring straight at the approaching Elevens. As he wondered what could have elicited such a reaction, his attention was drawn to the rebels on foot, to the banners they were carrying. He zoomed in, bringing the image into focus.

His heart stopped.

"How can they…?" Cornelia snarled. "How…_dare _they…?"

* * *

_**The Ghetto**_

Lelouch snapped the phone shut and slipped it back into his pocket. Before him was spread the mighty Tokyo Settlement, capital of Area 11, and its final citadel.

**23:58:09**

His _Gawain_,hovered over the sprawling ghetto, his followers swarming below like so many ants. Only a kilometre or so distant was the outer edge of the settlement, the great artificial plateau around and upon which so many of the settlement's buildings had been constructed. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture, a symbol to all humanity of the power, the wealth, and the _will _of Britannia. With cities such as this, Britannia could make for itself a home in any land, and woe to the vanquished.

And it was about to collapse.

The thought of it, the satisfaction of it, was better than wine. He alone had wrought it. For him and him alone had such a thing been possible. Only with his power, his _Geass_, could such destruction be unleashed.

How many hours had it taken? How many hours, days, weeks, finding the right people with the right jobs and the right security clearances? How long had it taken him to seek them out, to give each and every one of them just the right command, to do just the right thing at just the right time.

No one involved in designing the settlement had thought it possible. The tall buttresses and floor sections of the plateau were connected with flexible joints, which not only allowed the massive structure to absorb the vibrations of an earthquake, but also for individual segments to collapse without dragging the whole thing down. It had been judged counterproductive to install a computer failsafe preventing the purging of multiple segments, as it might prevent the staff from purging collapsing segments with sufficient speed. Also, a completely centralised system would merely increase the risk of an accident via software error or cyber-warfare.

They could not have known about his Geass. They could not have known that he could turn their carefully vetted and constantly observed staff into ticking time-bombs, ready to gun down their colleagues and carry out the work. Such a thing was utterly inconceivable.

And by the time the OSI security squads realised what was happening, it would be too late.

Only the outer block was being destroyed, of course. There were certain buildings on the inner block he needed intact, and the HQ's foundations reached far below the ground, rendering it immune.

And not the entire outer block. His eyes fell on a single section that still stood, the familiar arrangements of its buildings and grounds marked out by bright lights.

Ashford Academy.

He didn't know what he would do if something went wrong, if the academy disintegrated before his eyes, with the few people he truly cared about inside.

Including Nunnally.

And Milly, and Rivalz, and Nina, and Shirley…

Suzaku was not there, of that much he was certain. His old friend would not have called him from Euphemia's phone if he was in there. He was almost certainly on the _Avalon_, approaching the city at full speed.

"_Lelouch, is there someone you could hate so much you'd want to kill them_?"

The words echoed in his thoughts, and images of Euphemia rose to accompany them. He thought of the happiness they had shared, for so little time. Happiness that one woman's hatred had snatched away.

And there he was, taking advantage of it.

"_Suzaku…forgive me_."

But there was someone else in his thoughts. Someone who had haunted his conscience since their unexpected reunion a few months earlier. The name hovering over an enemy knightmare icon on the tactical screen in front of him.

He couldn't say for certain why he had programmed that particular transponder code into the _Gawain'_s DRUID system. He couldn't say _why _he wanted to know if he was out there, if there was any point in knowing that he was fighting _another _old friend.

He touched the icon, and keyed for private communication. There was a pause, and Lelouch wondered if Alexander would spurn him again, as he had done before.

"Who is this?"

"Alexander," Lelouch said in a low voice. "You know who this is."

"You have made your choice."

"Yes," Lelouch replied. "I have." He laughed bitterly, then stopped suddenly as the comm clicked. He had been cut off.

Lelouch thought he should feel something more. He should have felt hurt, rejected, bereft at having lost his old friend. But he could not blame him. It was only logical for Soran to assume that _he _was responsible for Euphemia's death.

"Why bother calling him?" asked the _Gawain's_ other occupant, his fellow accomplice.

"I suppose…" He paused. "It was because I wanted to hear his voice one last time. My brother, who wears a mask as I do." CC did not reply.

"_Perhaps this was what I longed for, ever since that day,_" he thought. "_To destroy all, and lose all. Someone like you Soran, who was destroyed and remade, who died and was born again, would understand._"

"_Yes...I should have known sooner._" Far below, the saviour's face was as cold as stone as it gazed up at the black knightmare."_With your mother dead, and your sister crippled, it was inevitable that you would rise against your father, and my father…and me_."

"_That's right..._" The avenger's face split into a dire grimace. "_Destruction always comes before creation, and by Soran's destruction was Alexander created. You and I are both liars, both wearers of masks. You wore a mask your whole life…and so have I._" He paused, and in his mind's eye he could see his old friend's face.

"_My mother loved you, enough to call you her own son. I was happy with that, and so was Nunnally. I could have attained a life with you, and together we might have changed the world. But for my goal to be realised, I must cast my conscience aside."_

"_The past is behind us. My honour is my own. You would destroy my honour for the sake of your revenge, and even use the memory of Princess Euphemia for your own dark purposes. You…are not my prince. Not anymore." _

"_Only by victory can I atone. My only path is straight ahead."_

"_You shall not pass." _

**24:00:00**

And like an ocean wave, the uppermost floor sections of the outer block rippled as they fell in on themselves. Exultation filled the avenger, driving the guilt and the sorrow away as he laughed like a madman.

Down below the saviour fought with all his skill, Slash Harkens flashing back and forth, swinging between the falling debris as his comrades fell to their deaths, consumed in the chaos. He landed, the electronic eyes of his _Gloucester _staring up into those of the distant _Gawain_.

In that instant, saviour and avenger were of one mind. One grinned like a madman, Geass blazing brightly, beyond reason or care. The other frowned, his features set hard as any statue.

One mind, and one voice.

"Now then…"

* * *

**Done at last, with apologies. This fic fell victim to the end-of-year slump in many respects, along with an unusually heavy workload. The events of R1 will be settled in the next chapter. **

**This last part was done in closer cooperation with Zaru than usual, as we were trying to create a particular effect, similar to the dialogue between Lelouch and Suzaku when they talked about the condition of the world with CC and Euphemia respectively. If this were being done visually, then the scene would end with a split-screen of Alexander and Lelouch's faces. **


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

_**Osaki Ghetto, Tokyo Settlement**_

"Holy…!" Patrick Colasour blasphemed as the outer edge of the city platform seemed to evaporate into smoke.

"How the _hell _did he manage that?" demanded Neil Dylandy, from his position atop the MCV a little way behind.

"I don't know, and it doesn't matter," ordered Leesa Kujo. "Task Force Bolivar, take up your positions and prepare to support Chief of Staff Tohdoh's advance." A chorus of affirmatives followed before the comm went silent.

From her vantage point on the G-1 MCV's bridge, Leesa could see the battlefield clearly. The dust was clearing, blowing away on the night wind, revealing the massive edifice of the artificial plateau, and the gap created by Zero's little subterfuge. It was as if the plateau were a sandcastle and a giant foot had come down on the edge. A vast, almost-square chunk had collapsed, leaving a wasteland of rubble but for a single block off to the left. Tall support columns reached up from the debris, like the remnants of a lost civilization. In the very centre was the government bureau itself, a great grey oblong like a castle keep of old, its foundations reaching right down to the ground.

"_Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more._"

Was that how the breach at Harfleur seemed to those about to storm it? Or that of Antioch? Or Amiens? Or Ciudad Rodrigo?

Leesa suppressed a sigh. She knew what awaited her Japanese allies in that breach, and on the plateau above it. They would have to fight their way to the base of the bureau, then either blast their way in via whatever entrances they could find down there, or move to the upper levels in search of egress. All the while they would be under fire from enemy units on the bureau's firing platforms, and from the sentry guns further up the mighty keep. It would be a slaughter.

And yet…

"Order off to the mortar, rocket and _Raikou _units" she said aloud, her voice just loud enough to cut through the cacophony surrounding her. "Prepare to fire a creeping barrage for General Tohdoh."

"Yes Colonel!" answered her adjutant, a young female Black Knight by the name of Hikari Kanzaki.

Leesa glanced down at the map table again. The Kanto division, under Kati Mannequin's command from the airport, was establishing its railhead at Shinagawa station. Shinagawa was not merely an important interchange, but it was right next to the carriage and locomotive depots, making it a vital strategic asset. It was also on ground level, making it relatively easy to access, and allowed for troops to be moved straight up to the base of the settlement. From there, Kati's division would be able to push on to Tokyo station, linking up with the Tohoku division advancing from its own railhead at Ueno. Whereas Shinagawa had been connected to the collapsed section of the plateau, Ueno and Tokyo stations were connected to the remaining sections of plateau. Even if the Britannians had thought to deactivate or sabotage the cargo and vehicle elevators, rebel infantry could still move up from the platforms to what remained of the settlement plateau, pouring into the city like a dark tide of vengeance. They were holding the upper levels of Ueno for the moment, but if Tokyo station itself were to fall, then they were unlikely to be able to hold the tide back.

Which meant they would defend it to the death.

"All teams report ready! Captain Taniguchi's asking if you want the tanks to join in."

"Tell Captain Taniguchi negative," Leesa replied. "We need his tanks for the bureau's defences."

She had only a few tanks, a mixture of old pre-occupation Japanese models and some captured Britannian _Caliburns_. Parts and ammunition were in short supply, to say nothing of trained operators. She had decided, with Zero's support, to keep the tanks in reserve until the time came to assault the bureau itself, where their firepower would be invaluable in neutralising the keep's gun turrets.

What she would have given for a couple of squadrons of Paladins, or an airborne brigade. But what she had was what she had, and she have to make do.

"Colonel Kujo." Kyoshiroh Tohdoh's narrow face appeared on the main comm screen. "What's your status?"

"The artillery is ready for the creeping barrage," Leesa replied smartly. "All units are in postion."

"Very good. Give the order." Tohdoh gave her as good a salute as the _Gekka_'s cockpit allowed, and the screen went blank.

"Colonel?" asked Hikari.

"Begin the barrage."

Within a minute of her giving the order, the collapsed block was lit up with explosions. Leesa could see the red glare of the rockets as they raced overhead, swarming down like so many tiny hornets to wreak destruction on any Britannians unfortunate enough to be amid the rubble. Out in front, she could see the four _Raikou_ units taking up position.

The _Raikou_ were something to marvel at. Each consisted of four _Glasgow_ bodies arranged two-by-two, carrying an enormous electromagnetic coilgun between them, with a flat dome on top that incorporated the _Glasgow_s heads. Leesa was as amazed by their simplicity as she was by the ability of the former Japan Liberation Front to produce them. The four she could see, under the command of Toru Yoshida, were the only ones the Black Knights had been able to find after the Battle of Narita, stashed away in secret JLF storehouses.

The four _Raikou _fired, their shells streaking out over the ghetto ruins. They detonated in mid-air, showering the block with deadly shrapnel capable of perforating main battle tanks.

It was then that Tohdoh made his move. Leesa could see his black _Gekka, _leading the way as the knightmares swarmed through the ghetto towards the settlement.

"You know what I think this looks like?" asked a female voice. Leesa almost jumped, for Kaguya had moved from the throne to her shoulder while barely making a sound.

"What, Lady Sumeragi?" Leesa asked, deciding to humour her.

"Osaka Castle," Kaguya replied, beaming. "Don't you think it looks like a Japanese castle?"

Surprised by the question, Leesa took another look at the massive edifice that was Tokyo Settlement. The artificial plateau symbolised a great many things. It displayed Britannia's wealth, its sophistication, its power, and above all its _will_. Britannia built such settlements in every land it conquered, as if to tell anyone who looked upon them that they had arrived, and would not be moved.

"I…suppose there are certain similarities," she admitted dubiously. In truth, about the only thing the settlement seemed to have in common was the plateau itself, which served a similar purpose to the solid stone foundations that were such a distinctive feature of Japanese castles.

"Hmm, you're right," Kaguya mused. "It's not _elegant _enough to be a Japanese castle. Britannians overdo everything, don't you think?" She giggled, and bounced off to where Jacque was sitting.

"You should be wary of her," said Diethard Reid, in a voice low enough that the bridge crew couldn't overhear. She hadn't noticed him come stalking up to her either.

"Fear nothing, Diethard," Leesa replied, smiling. "I know what the Kyoto Six think of me and my colleagues."

"All the more reason to be cautious." The Britannian's lantern-jawed face was as unreadable as his narrow brown eyes. "Kyoto cannot bear Japan being ruled by someone it doesn't completely control, let alone a foreigner backed by the EU. This new cult of _Santa Euphemia_ makes it even worse."

Leesa knew what he meant. She knew all about the Kyoto Houses, not merely from her own research, but from some very secret information provided by EUROSEC to herself and Kati shortly before their departure for Japan. She knew things about Kyoto that would make Diethard's hair break free of its pony tail and stand on end.

And things about Genbu Kururugi he would likely give his front teeth to know.

Yes, she knew. She knew how the legend at the heart of the Japanese resistance was built on a lie; how the rebels revered as a heroic martyr the man responsible for their current situation. She knew how the Kyoto Houses had controlled Japan from the shadows, to a greater or lesser extent, since the Meiji Restoration.

"_Is that your plan, Zero_?" she wondered. "_To replace Saint Genbu with Saint Euphemia? To rule Japan by yourself?"_

"So where does this leave you, Diethard?" she asked. "What's in it for you?"

"For me?" Diethard gave her a smile that bordered on the beatific. "All I want is to see Zero rise. I want to document his rise, to see and record every detail. I want to see the world change before my very eyes."

Leesa returned her attention to the battle, not knowing how to respond.

"_I need a drink_."

* * *

As Alexander finally managed to right his Gloucester, he saw them coming.

Grey, blocky shapes, so much like the Glasgows he had trained in all those years ago. But for their ornate headpieces, he would have thought them to be such. The Burais came on, swarming over the rubble like a stampeding herd. Some of them were already exchanging fire with enemies he couldn't see.

"_Nihon Banzai!_" they roared as one. "_Santa Euphemia!_"

At their head was a black machine, red hair billowing in the wind, sword raised in challenge.

"Tohdoh…"

Alexander keyed for his Machine Pistols, sending a burst of tracer into the oncoming knightmares. One of them exploded, followed by two more as he followed up with quick bursts. The Burais split apart, peeling away to left and right. As they did, he saw five new shapes racing towards him. Hunched, turquoise-armoured Gekkas, coming at him with guns blazing. Alexander dodged, jinking back and forth to avoid their fire. The _Gekkas _peeled off in turn, allowing the black _Gekka _he had seen a moment ago to step forward. Its intent was obvious.

"Sir Alexander Waldstein!" the black knightmare roared. "Son of the Knight of One! Son of the roaring thunder! Face me!"

Alexander obliged, keying to stow his pistols as he slammed down the pedals. His _Gloucester _leapt forward, his glowing sword aimed for the black _Gekka_'s torso. Tohdoh slid to his left, easing his black sword sideways to parry the thrust away. Alexander pressed his pedals front and back, rotating on the spot to catch Tohdoh's swift upper cut. He backed away, blocking Tohdoh's blows as the black _Gekka _pressed its advantage. Fearful of being trapped against the debris behind him, Alexander brought his sword up as Tohdoh's fell, and as they connected he dipped it sharply to the left, the saw-toothed blade sliding down and away.

The black _Gekka _swung around, bringing its sword back up, but Alexander had already broken away. He brought his _Gloucester _around in an arc, keeping his eyes on the black _Gekka_ as he drew the Machine Pistol again. He managed to get a single shot off, scoring the _Gekka_'s pauldron as it began to move. It came on in tight, rapid zig-zags, too fast for him to aim. It was all Alexander could do to holster the pistol again and bring up his MVS in time to catch the first thrust. He tweaked his pedals, his _Gloucester _darting nimbly over the debris. The black _Gekka _came after him, thrusting from the waist in a fashion Alexander had never seen outside of Area 11. He dodged back and forth, saving his blocks and parries for the blows that came too close.

For all his determination, for all the pure, cold resolve he felt, Alexander knew the duel was going badly. Tohdoh was as fine a swordsman as he was a devicer, with a clear advantage in a sustained clash of blades. Worse, he was effectively alone. Even if he were somehow to defeat that mighty _Kiseki no Tohdoh,_ he would likely be finished off by the enraged Black Knights swarming into the breach around them.

He couldn't afford to die. Not when his Princess still needed him.

He managed to break away again, glancing around as he fell back, looking for any sign of help. He couldn't see Rai anywhere. Had his comrade been killed?

A flash of gold caught his eye, and his attention fell on a golden shape in the dust-hazed distance. Just as he saw it, a silver shape leapt upon it from its right, forcing the gold knightmare to defend itself. Gold and silver spectres danced a deadly ballet, exchanging blows and gunfire.

Was it…?

His horrified fascination almost cost him his life. Alexander remembered his situation just as Tohdoh charged again. He jammed his pedals back, leaping back and away from a diagonal down-swing that would have cut his _Gloucester _in half. He tried to force thoughts of the gold knightmare out of his mind as he parried the _Gekka_'s blows, angry with himself for making a beginner's mistake.

Anger flooded through him, driving away the cold in his stomach. He was tired of being driven back, ashamed of himself for almost falling apart. He knew it was the shock of the settlement block collapsing underneath him that caused it, but that was no excuse.

Alexander saw his chance, jinking sideways as Tohdoh thrusted. He brought down the MVS from over his right shoulder, his fury yearning to cut the _Gekka_ in two. But Tohdoh was too quick, slewing away as the glowing blade came down. Alexander felt the shudder as the blade struck, slicing through the twin spikes that decorated the _Gekka_'s left pauldron.

The _Gekka _fell back, swinging around to face him, sword raised. Alexander saw sparks leaping from the black knightmare's exposed shoulder, and wondered how much damage he had done. The _Gekka _raised its sword to _en-garde,_ and the knightmare suddenly vanished in a cloud of smoke.

Alexander was stunned, so much so that he didn't come to his senses for several seconds. The smoke was already clearing, and he saw that Tohdoh had gone. He glanced down at his energy gauge, which was already in the red.

"Major Waldstein!" yelled the comm. Alexander glanced at the screen.

"Sir Alfred?" He turned his _Gloucester _around to see where the communication had come from. He saw the five _Gloucester_s immediately, painted in Royal Guard purple, with an oblong _Saddlewaffen _missile pod on each shoulder.

"Yes sir!" Alfred G. Darlton's face appeared on the comm screen, his face partially concealed by the black and red face mask that was the Glaston Knights' trademark. "Are you all right sir?"

"I'm fine, Sir Alfred." Alexander felt the tension ease. "Is Princess Cornelia safe?"  
"She and the other Royal Guards fought their way out already," Alfred replied enthusiastically. "Lord Guilford is with them, and so is your companion."

It was all he could do not to sigh with relief.

"What're you still doing here?" he asked, as he drove his _Gloucester _towards the waiting Glaston Knights. "Hasn't the retreat been called?"

"We couldn't leave without you sir," Sir Bart L. Darlton interjected. In contrast to his adoptive brother's wavy gold, his hair was long and blue, reaching to his chin. "Not after you kept Tohdoh busy. We only managed to fall back thanks to you. Father would never forgive us if we let you die, not after all that."

"We would never forgive ourselves either," Alfred spoke up again. "You're our inspiration, sir."

Alexander felt a pang of embarrassment as the Glaston Knights fell in around him, made all the worse by the fact that he couldn't think of a reply.

* * *

Hamid was in a foul mood.

Things had been going well, very well in fact. Leesa's creeping barrage had been near-perfect, and even Tohdoh had taken the pole out of his posterior long enough to lead a decent offensive. He had pictured himself tearing his way through the Britannian knightmares, leading the Black Knights to the base of the government bureau, whereupon his Radiant Wave Surger could have torn open the doors. Victory would have been assured.

But it hadn't turned out like that. First, Tohdoh had managed to get himself bogged down fighting Waldstein of all people. Worse, he had insisted on fighting the boy single-handed, allowing no one to interfere. Hamid had been about to take the brat down regardless, only to be jumped by Luciano Bradley.

Bradley. It just _had _to be Bradley, didn't it. Of all the thousand and one utter bastards who populated the Britannian military, it had to be Luciano Bradley.

Hamid knew all about him. There were few who had not heard of the 'Vampire of Britannia', a warrior as skilled as he was unscrupulous. Linked to countless atrocities and acts of casual barbarism in north Africa, Bradley was very near the top of EUROFORCE's 'terminate with extreme prejudice' list.

He was also, as Hamid had discovered first hand, a consummate knightmare pilot. His silver custom _Gloucester _had proven a match for Hamid's prototype _Gekka, _and there had been moments when he had truly felt in danger. This was a new and not entirely unpleasant sensation for Hamid, who quietly suspected that he had gotten a little too accustomed to easy victories.

The problem, of course, was that they had fought each other to a standstill. He had been forced to back off with his energy filler just less than three-quarters drained, for even if he had managed to defeat or drive away the silver _Gloucester _there and then, he didn't have enough energy left to reach the base of the keep _and _hold it long enough for someone to get to him with a fresh battery, as had been the plan. Even if he _had _managed it, not enough knightmares would have been able to accompany him, for the survivors of Zero's little trick had managed to throw the assault into chaos.

He was _angry. _He was _frustrated_. The advantage Zero had provided was being slowly squandered, for the failure of the assault had given the Britannians time to fall back and regroup. They would surely now be manning the outer wall of the bureau, or else taking position around the edge of the collapsed block, ready to gun down anyone who tried to cross the wasteland.

From his vantage point in the control station, Hamid glared down at the G-1's internal knightmare bay. The bay was a scene of barely-organised chaos, as knightmares were repaired and rearmed, or else re-sprayed if they had been recently captured. He could see his gold _Gekka_, standing directly opposite him, with Saji Tsuji hard at work. The lad had insisted that some of the bearings were loose, and for all his frustration Hamid wasn't inclined to take stupid risks.

That meant swallowing his anger until Saji was done, and the Black Knights were ready for the next wave.

Speaking of anger, there was no shortage of it in the control station. A few metres away from Hamid, Shinichiro Tamaki was shouting into a phone, apparently over some matter involving the Chubu division. The medics had done their best to repair and unblock his nose, crushed by a single grief-fuelled blow by Saji, but it still gave his words a slightly wet air.

"Whaddya mean you can't? Where's your…they didn't show? Well do it yourselves then! How hard is it to lay a mile of track? Listen you bunch of prissies, Zero told you to get down here, so fix the damn track or I'll tell him you're too delicate to get your hands dirty!" He slammed the phone down. "ASSHOLES!"

"I take it there's a problem," commented Ougi Kaname, looking slightly unsettled by the display.

"Too right there's a problem!" Tamaki snarled. "It's those prissies in the Chubu division! They can't get here because the Britannians ripped up about a mile of track! They're stuck on the line near Takasaki!"

"Takasaki?" Ougi exclaimed, horrified. "That's bad! There's no way they'll get here in time!"

"Tell them that!" Tamaki snapped, sounding as if he was about to sneeze. "Anyway, you gonna tell Zero?"

"Guess I'll have to." Ougi looked and even sounded distracted, enough so to draw Hamid's attention. There seemed little reason for Ougi to be worried, for Zero hadn't come across as the shoot-the-messenger type of commander. What was more, though it would be somewhat more difficult, Zero had planned the attack so that it could be carried out by only two divisions if need be.

So then, what was bothering him so?

"What're you staring it?" Tamaki demanded, having noticed Hamid watching them. "Wanna make something of it, huh?"

"That depends, Hamid sneered. "How would you like me to fix that nose of yours once and for all?" He patted the knife strapped to his leg. "It might improve your appearance."

"Why you…!" Tamaki made to lunge at Hamid, but Ougi grabbed his arm. After a quick and angry exchange, Ougi sent Tamaki stalking off.

"Dare I assume we have some orders, sub-commander?" Hamid asked.

"Not for the moment," Ougi replied, somewhat defensively. "Just prepare for the next wave. I'm sure Zero will give the order soon."

"How about the rest of the battle?" Ougi paused, and cleared his throat.

"Not as well as I'd like," he admitted. "The assault on Tokyo station didn't work out. The Skirted Devils had to fall back, and the Tohoku division claims they've nothing to spare. The report said fifty per cent casualties."

"Hmmm." Hamid was mildly surprised, though not by the casualty rate. He had helped train the Skirted Devils, and even before the training their ferocity had belied their ludicrous appearance. They had struck him even then as the sort to keep up an attack even against harsh odds.

"I reckon Kati can handle it," he mused. Kati Mannequin might be a hard-nosed bitch, or so he thought, but she was good at her job. "She's still got the White Sashes, right?"

"Oh, yes," Ougi replied, somewhat distractedly. "I imagine they'll be advancing round about now."

"_What's got you so nervous then?_" Hamid wondered. "_What're you hiding?"_

* * *

"I see. You say they left their rail crew behind?"

"Yes. Apparently they didn't show up in time."

"Very well. Tell the division to return to their start point and stand down to reserve status. There's no point in trying to bring them down now."

"Yes Zero."

Lelouch suppressed a shiver of irritation as he cut the comm. Despite a good start, complications seemed to be piling up. First the Skirted Devils' attack on Tokyo station had failed, then Tohdoh had let him down, and on top of all that the Chubu division couldn't make it either.

Complications yes, but none of them fatal.

Looking down at the destruction he had wrought on the settlement, he found it easier to keep that fact in mind. It was too early to despair, but human confidence had a tendency to come and go as it pleased. A little positive reinforcement never hurt at times like this.

"_I should have Tohdoh try again_," he thought, scanning his eyes over the settlement. High in the sky, the _Gawain _gave him the perfect vantage point. "_There's nothing defending the edges apart from the bureau_,_ so he should be okay._"

That in itself was surprising. He would have thought that the other edges of the gap he had carved in the plateau would have been substantially defended, yet there was no sign of anything. Perhaps Cornelia's losses had been worse than he thought, forcing her to pull all the way back to the government bureau.

Or did it not matter?

The comm beeped again, and Lelouch saw that it was Kati Mannequin.

"Report," he said, as her hard face appeared on the comm screen. Having set the comm to voice only at his end, he did not need to put his mask back on.

"The assault on Tokyo station has failed" Kati reported sternly. "The Chiba brigade routed, and the Skirted Devils suffered heavy losses. Our heavy weapons inflicted considerable damage on the station itself, but the Britannian troops inside are holding hard. We need to deploy the White Sash brigade to continue the attack."

"Why haven't you done so?" Lelouch was mildly surprised that she needed to ask his permission. EUROFORCE's tactical coordinators had a reputation for independence of thought and action, which is why he had given her and Leesa Kujo such high positions.

"I gave the order to Colonel Takahashi, but he refused to advance." There was just a hint of hesitation in her tone, as if she were embarrassed.

"Did he give a reason?" Lelouch hissed, his fingers digging into the armrests of his acceleration chair.

"He insisted on a direct order from yourself," Kati went on. "Please forgive me for bothering you with this, Zero."

"Not your fault, Colonel Mannequin. Leave Takahashi to me. Do you have any units in reserve?"

"Only the Saitama and Ibaraki brigades. The Tochigi and Gunma brigades are all on perimeter duty, and the Kanagawa brigade is securing the airport and the harbour."

"Very well. Have the Saitama and Ibaraki brigades ready to support the White Sashes. Expect to receive knightmare support on the settlement plateau presently."

"Yes Zero." The screen went blank. Lelouch paused a moment, then keyed for the White Sash brigade.

"Takahashi," came the reply, sounding mildly irritated.

"This is Zero!" Lelouch said, his tone as harsh as he could manage. "You received orders from Colonel Mannequin to advance and capture Tokyo station! Why haven't you done so?"

"We do not recognize her authority," Takahashi's voice replied, his tone clipped and defensive. "The White Sashes do not take orders from foreign women."

"Oh really!" Lelouch sneered. "Then what about my authority? Are my orders good enough for you?"

"Zero…"

"Colonel Mannequin is an officer on my staff!" Lelouch roared, cutting the man off. "Her voice is my voice! If you refuse an order from my staff again I will have you shot! Do you understand?"

"Yes Zero."

"Take the station colonel! And we will say no more about it!" Lelouch disconnected the comm and slumped in his seat, suddenly exhausted.

"Don't lose your temper," CC admonished mildly, from her pilot position below. "It'll undermine your authority."

"It would be undermined far worse if I let him get away with it," Lelouch retorted sourly. "I really don't need subordinates like that."

"George never used to lose his temper," CC commented. "At least, not much."

"So, now you compare me to your old lovers," Lelouch groused. "Tell me witch, just how many men have you done it with over the centuries?"

"More than I can remember." CC paused, and to Lelouch she seemed suddenly wistful. "That is, if I even wanted to remember them."

"Do I remind you of him?" he asked, suddenly curious.

"Of George? No, you're too young and too waspish. He was more…fatherly when I knew him." She paused again. "You remind me more of Gilbert. He didn't much like who he was either. As for your temper…it reminds me of Mustafa."

"I see." Lelouch did not pay it any more thought. He had too much on his mind already. He glanced at his clock, then keyed for Tohdoh and Kujo.

"General Tohdoh, Colonel Kujo," he began, as their faces appeared on the screen. "Are you ready to begin again?"

"All knightmares are charged and ready," Tohdoh replied. "Awaiting your order."

"Artillery is ready, on your order," Leesa added.

"The edges are clear," Lelouch said. "General Tohdoh, move up immediately and head for Tokyo station. Clear out any Britannian troops you find there, then move on to Ueno and do likewise. I want both the Kanto and the Tohoku divisions on the plateau within the hour. Colonel Kujo, be ready to provide fire support to General Tohdoh in the event of trouble, and have the tanks ready for a full assault on the keep as soon as the General is ready."

"Understood!" both chorused, and their faces vanished. He keyed for Kallen.

"Zero?"

"Kallen, I need you and Zero squadron to accompany the special forces to Ashford Academy. Ougi will follow with the rest of the command staff. You're in charge until I get there."

"What about the students?" She sounded genuinely concerned.

"None are to be harmed unless they're carrying weapons or offer violence. You have full authority until I arrive."

"Yes Zero."

Lelouch glanced down at his old school, its block standing like a lonely rock amid the devastation below.

"_Nunnally,_" he thought, her image dancing in his mind's eye. "_Don't worry. I'm still protecting you. You and the others will be safe this way._"

* * *

_**Military HQ, Pearl Harbour Base, Grand Duchy of Hawaii**_

The atmosphere in the meeting chamber was tense.

Schneizel el Britannia could feel it in the air around him. He could see it in the faces of the military commanders seated with him around the horseshoe meeting table. He could sense their fear, their anger, their irresolution. He had felt nothing remotely like it since they were planning the invasion of Japan.

Funnily enough, it was that country that was the cause of all the strife. Like Hawaii, he found Area 11 to be a pleasant enough place, so long as a hurricane wasn't passing through. But that was pretty much what was happening.

The hurricane's name was Zero.

Odysseus eu Britannia, his eldest half-sibling, was currently on the spot. For his own part Schneizel just sat where he was, taking in the information that was being slung at his older brother, and seeing him fall apart under the barrage.

"We've lost contact with over two dozen minor settlements and all but one of our military bases! All the major settlements are under siege!"

"There are reports of cruise missile attacks against the air bases! They have no air cover!"

"The Chinese fleet has been seen deploying into the East China Sea!"

Though his face betrayed no emotion, Schneizel felt sorry for his brother. He had known it would be like that, even before he had entered the room. Those terrified fools would bombard him with one dire report after enough, too quickly for him to get his head round it. Then he would clam up, as he always did, and nothing would get done.

It wasn't entirely his fault. Such was no way to run a meeting no matter who was supposed to be chairing. But the fact remained that Odysseus just wasn't cut out for command. He just wasn't able to handle that much information at once without his brain locking up.

"The Chinese Federation too?" Odysseus sounded as miserable as he looked. "That's all we need, with his Majesty still not here."

"_He's gone there again?_" Schneizel thought. He could feel the eyes of his 'aide' boring into his back. It wasn't Kanon, unfortunately, nor was it Livonze, the latter currently being stranded in Area 11, along with the Code R data and equipment, both test subjects, and both _Siegfried _prototypes.

"Prince Odysseus." Admiral O'Connell stood up to speak. "Our forces are standing by for deployment. Please assign the commander at once."

"We mustn't be too hasty here." Odysseus was doing his level best to sound authoritative. "What happened to Euphemia was tragic, and the handling of it an abominable blunder. But if we act rashly this could spread to every Area, and our situation with the EU means we have few forces to spare."

"Your highness!" O'Connel protested. "We must go to Princess Cornelia's assistance!"

"Brother," Schneizel said, choosing his moment to stand. "Why don't I go?"

"Really?" Odysseus exclaimed, obviously relieved. "You'd go?"

"Doesn't it sadden you to see them killing each other?" Schneizel asked, only half rhetorically. "Shouldn't we nip this in the bud as soon as possible."

"Wh…why yes of course."

"Gentlemen," Schneizel turned his attention to the others present. In an instant, it had become plain who was really in charge. "I must speak with my brother for a moment. Admiral O'Connel, General Wraight, and General Dupuy, if you will please wait for me in the strategium, I shall meet with you there in one quarter of an hour." The others bowed and filed out of the chamber, leaving Schneizel and Odysseus alone.

Apart from _him,_ of course, still standing behind Schneizel's chair.

"I made a mess of that, didn't I," Odysseus said with a sigh, resting his head on one hand.

"A situation like this would be hard on anyone," Schneizel reassured. "They were panicking, bombarding you like that."

"I suppose it's only human nature," Odysseus mused sadly. "They looked to me to sort it out, and I wasn't up to it."

"_Yes, it is human nature,_" Schneizel thought darkly. "_They don't want to think, especially not at a time like this. They want to be ruled. They want to be told what to do._"

"Odysseus, why don't you get some rest," he said, in as kind a tone as he could manage. "There'll be a lot to do soon."

"Yes, you're right," Odysseus agreed, standing up. "There's the official announcement, and the funeral too. People will expect it, you know."

"Yes, they will." Schneizel squeezed his brother's shoulder, allowing him a moment of brotherly camaraderie.

"It's a shame really," commented his 'aide', once Odysseus had left the room. "So many fine qualities, yet none of the ones he actually needs."

Schneizel thought of snapping at him, but restrained himself for he was speaking the truth. Odysseus would have made a fine ruler in just about any monarchy but the one into which he'd actually been born. He was good-natured, gracious, even considerate. Such qualities could attract affection, love, maybe even loyalty. But they would never make him a credible Emperor.

"I don't have a problem with that, Regene," he replied, turning to look at the young man who looked disconcertingly like Tieria Erde. "As he is, he suits my requirements."

"Such _sang froid_," Regene Regetta sneered. "Using your dear big brother as a front man. I wonder how you'll react if someone were to kill _him _too."

"I really couldn't say," Schneizel replied, refusing the bait. "But no one's going to kill Odysseus. Nobody else wants to step into the firing line."

"You least of all," Regene commented, his sneer softening. "But poor Princess Euphemia. Who would have seen that one coming?"

"I certainly didn't," Schneizel admitted gravely. "Any more than I foresaw Zero launching his uprising now, though the one leads logically to the other. I would have expected him to be ready in another month or so."

"You think he was responsible?"

"Actually I'm fairly certain he wasn't." Schneizel gave Regene a dark look. "I didn't want to say anything in front of my brother, but I received a report from Livonze. It was Lord Bradley who ordered the troops to fire."

"Lord Bradley," Regene replied with a smirk, "who recently has been getting rather chummy with Princess Carline."

"An interesting happenstance," Schneizel allowed. "But that doesn't mean she killed Euphie."

"True." Regene shrugged. "We'll probably never know."

"Indeed." Schneizel sighed. "It's meaningless now in any case. All that matters is making sure that Zero can't inadvertently interfere in our plans."

"Which means making sure he doesn't get his grubby paws on the Code-R data, or the personnel, or the _Siegfried _prototypes," Regene concluded. "If Cornelia doesn't hold out, we could lose the whole lot."

"It's not the technology I'm worried about," Schneizel went on. "Like the _Gawain,_ the _Siegfried_s are only demonstration units, and the data in the facility can be wiped if need be. Alas, human minds can't have their contents erased so easily."

"Ahhh," Regene breathed. "So it's _Livonze _you're worried about. He'd be so happy to know that."

"I know what you're thinking," Schneizel retorted sourly. "I can get by without him if need be. But replacing him will not be easy, and I would rather not have to do so."

"I know that well enough." Regene's tone turned wistful, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes that might have been bitterness. "After all, I made him what he is."

"And you regret it?" Schneizel could not resist the poke.

"I suppose I did, for a while," Regene admitted. "Livonze will never fulfil my contract. He's far too clever, and too emotionally self-contained, to fall for that old con trick. Besides, what does immortality compare with what he seeks to bestow on humanity? Especially the variety," he brushed aside his purple bangs, revealing a red spread-wing emblem "from which betrayal is the only escape?"

"I sometimes wonder," Schneizel replied, with a rueful chuckle, "what made your little group come to me. How can I compare to one such as you? Or Livonze for that matter?"

"Don't put yourself down, my prince," Regene oiled, with all the sincerity of a coiled serpent. "Livonze admires you very much, more so than I had thought he was capable of. In you, he sees the possibility of bringing about the future we seek. The future you, I, and he all agreed must come about."

"The advancement of humanity," Schneizel intoned. "The innovation of our being."

"Your father and VV's little scheme will doom us all," Regene went on, his countenance darkening. "The Ragnarok connection must not be allowed to take place."

"And I will prevent it," Schneizel continued. "With the wisdom of VEDA, I will shatter the sword of Akasha, and humanity will advance."

* * *

_**Government Bureau, Tokyo Settlement, Area 11**_

"Order Lord Crane to fall back. Have him set up a defence line around the monorail station."

"Yes, your highness." The adjutant hurried away. Cornelia li Britannia turned her attention to the rest of her staff officers, clustered around the map table. All around them, the command centre bustled and murmured as dozens of personnel carried out their assigned tasks. They did so with professional efficiency and calm, but Cornelia could still sense their anxiety, their stress. The vast majority of them would never have experienced anything remotely like it.

"What news from the outside?" she asked. "Are any of the bases operational?"

"Sado managed to get their planes up before they were hit" replied one. "All the rest have gone silent, or else are under heavy attack."

"What of the air defence bases?"

"The only one to reply was Saitama, and they've since gone silent. They claimed to have been hit with cruise missiles from an approximate south-eastern vector, and that rebel forces were approaching. That was one hour ago."

Behind her full, tight lips, Cornelia gritted her teeth. Whoever this Zero was, he had some powerful friends, or at least people willing to kick Britannia while it was down.

She calculated the particulars in her mind. Cruise missiles, launched from somewhere in the Philippine Sea, invisible both to Britannia's satellites and Area 11's perimeter sonar net. That meant submarines, firing at ranges of over a thousand kilometres. That in turn meant that the missiles were slow, making them all the more vulnerable to the base defences. They would have to have been fired in barrages, and probably with sakuradite-enhanced warheads, ensuring that even one direct hit would be devastating.

"It would seem Zero is getting some outside help," she said, keeping her tone calm. "Either from the EU or the Chinese Federation. Any word on their movements?"

"Nothing from the EU, Vicereine. The Chinese Federation is continuing to mass its fleet in the East China sea, but they haven't made any aggressive moves."

"When will my brother Schneizel be here?"

"His highness reported seventy-five hours, Vicereine."

Seventy-five hours. And no air support until then.

"What about the Krugisian battlegroup? Are they still approaching?"

"Yes Vicereine. They're passing Daito island." Cornelia made her decision.

"Orders off to the _Anahita_. They are to move to these coordinates," she tapped a point on the map table approximately halfway between the islands of Daito and Amami, "and prepare for possible surface, air, and submarine attacks."

"Vicereine!" one of the staff officers protested. "They won't be able to support us!"

"True, but they're all we've got to keep the Chinese fleet at bay," Cornelia retorted. "And we don't need any more interference from those submarines."

"Yes, Vicereine." The staff officer saluted, and headed for one of the comm-stations.

"Have you made contact with General Darlton?" she asked another of her officers.

"Yes Vicereine, he's on the main screen." Cornelia turned to the main communication screen, set into the opposite wall. Andreas Darlton's craggy face appeared there a moment later.

"General Darlton," she began. "What's your situation?"

"I've managed to rally your surviving guards," Darlton replied, his face grim. "We're rearming now, and should be ready in about five minutes. But rebel knightmares have hit Tokyo and Ueno stations. Rebel infantry and technicals are swarming through the city."

"Did the troops at the stations make it out?"

"The troops at Ueno managed to fall back, but the units at Tokyo were hit hard. They're returning, but in dribs and drabs."

Cornelia sighed. Part of her burned at the thought of Elevens running riot in the settlement, and of what they might do to any Britannians they laid their hands on. But there was nothing she could do about it now, not without endangering her whole command.

"_Damn you Zero!_"

"What about Major Waldstein and Lord Guilford," she finally asked. "Are they with you?"

"Both are here, your highness." Darlton finally cracked a smile. "And they're both fine. The lad actually took on Tohdoh and survived."

"Very good. Get as many knightmares combat effective as you can. All we have to do is hold out here, and things will get harder and harder for the Black Knights."

"Yes, your highness. What will you be doing?"

"Me?" Cornelia smirked a particularly vicious smirk. "I'll be preparing a party for our friend Zero. I'll be welcoming him…_personally._"

* * *

Alexander felt so very tired.

The constant noise of the knightmare hangar seemed to be crushing the inside of his head. His arms and legs felt like lead weights, and his heart was burning, though not just with exhaustion.

Having nothing to do was a major cause of it, or so he suspected. His _Gloucester _had been repaired, its energy filler replaced, but he had received no further orders. There was nothing to do but wait for something to happen. Nothing to do but hang around, worrying.

Rai had been hovering around him all the while, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't think of anything worthwhile. Alexander hadn't the heart to send him away, not after everything that had happened. Maybe it was just his weariness, but a terrible sense of guilt overcame him every time he glanced at the younger boy. So busy had he been, so wrapped up in his own troubles, that he had barely spared his understudy a thought.

"Sir Alexander, Rai." He looked up as Lord Gilbert Guilford strode up to them. Like them, Guilford was still clad in his purple and black g-force suit. His brow glistened with sweat, and his normally neat black hair was looking somewhat ragged. Alexander could tell that he was as tired as they were.

"Lord Guilford," Alexander replied, saluting. "I'm glad you're alive."

"Same to you, Sir Alexander." Though Guilford's tone was emotionless, Alexander knew him well enough to know that he meant it. "Are the both of you ready to go?"

"We're ready my lord," Alexander answered smartly. "Forgive me for asking, my lord, but did you see the gold _Gekka_?"

"Yes, I did. What of it?"

"It was battling a silver knightmare, a _Gloucester _I think. Know you of it?" Guilford's eyes suddenly hardened.

"The only silver knightmare here," he said, "belongs to Lord Bradley."

The words ran through Alexander's heart like a rapier's strike.

"Bradley?" he hissed, his eyes bulging. "Him?"

"Don't even think about it Sir Alexander!" Guilford barked, for he had seen Alexander's desire plainly.

"He ordered the slaughter!" Alexander snarled. "He knows who murdered Princess Euphemia!" All the grief and anger that he thought had passed welled up within him once again. The thought that Bradley was near, and getting away with his crimes, was intolerable.

"For those words, Sir Alexander," Guilford replied harshly, "I should have you court-martialled for slander. What's more you would be convicted, for you have no proof."

"To hell with proof!" Alexander roared. "We _can't _let him get away with it! We _can't_!"

"And he won't!" Guilford said, his voice hard as stone. "Leave it to Princess Cornelia! She has the power to deal with him! You don't!"

"Euphie…" the words slipped out, as reason and rage warred for control in Alexander's heart.

"I knew her as you do," Guilford went on. "I loved her as you do. And as you do, I yearn to tear Bradley's head from his shoulders. But we _must _wait, Sir Alexander." There was silence, but for the background noise of the hangar.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Guilford said pointedly. Alexander finally noticed the vibration against his hip, which had been going on for much of a minute. He unzipped his g-force suit and pulled out his phone.

"Waldstein," he answered, too hasty to check who it was.

"Sir Alexander?" The voice was female, and frightened. "Is that you?"

"Miss Fenette?" Alexander felt his heart clench.

"Oh thank god! Sir Alexander he's here! They're here! The Black Knights are…!"

"Wait!" Alexander pleaded. "Slow down! Where are you?"

"I….I'm at Ashford Academy! The Black Knights have taken over the school! They're holding us hostage! Zero's here!"

"Zero?" Alexander exclaimed.

"Yes! He's here! He said he'd protect us but then he used as hostages to trick Suzaku!"

"Sir Suzaki is there?"

"The Black Knights captured him! They've got the _Lancelot _in some kind of trap! They're going to kill Suzaku!"

"Miss Fenette….Shirley, I'm coming! Don't be afraid! I'm coming!" He keyed to call the call.

"You'll do nothing of the kind," Guilford said sternly, before Alexander could say another word.

"Lord Guilford!" he pleaded. "The Black Knights are at the academy! They need our help!"

"Our place is here, Sir Alexander!" Guilford barked back, eyes flashing behind his spectacles. "We have orders to defend the government bureau!"

"Lord Guilford," Rai spoke up. "You heard what she said. Sir Suzaku is there with the _Lancelot _too. We cannot leave them to the Black Knights."

"Enough from you, Lieutenant Rai!" Guilford snapped. "We cannot weaken our defences in order to go to them! That's _exactly _what Zero wants! Has it not occurred to you that this might be a trap? That she might have made that call under duress? Zero is not above such tricks!"

"Then I alone will go!" Alexander insisted, driven on by feelings for which he had no name. "Please let me go Lord Guilford! I cannot abandon her…!" He stopped himself, but too late.

"So that's what this is about!" Guilford roared. "This is the depth of your devotion! You would abandon your oaths for the love of some common-born school girl!"

"Fine words from you, Gilbert Guilford," sneered a female voice from behind. All three looked to see Carline la Britannia standing there, clad in a red g-force suit. With her were the Trinity siblings, clad in matching white and red g-force suits. As their eyes met, Michael Trinity snorted and looked away.

"You of all people, _Lord _Guilford," Carline sneered, swaggering towards them. "You, at whom women threw themselves, and who could never refuse them. Cornelia complains about it endlessly." Nena giggled, her wide blue eyes fixed upon Guilford, who seemed to be hovering between anger and embarrassment.

"Your highness," he managed to say. "You must not concern yourself with this."

"Mustn't I?" Carline mocked, evidently enjoying herself. "I don't think much of a knight of Britannia who won't put himself out to help a lady in distress. Especially if it's his lady love."

"I feel sorry for that poor girl," Nena commented, hands on her hips. "She calls for her knight, and his churlish superior won't let him go. What a disappointment!"

"A knight must obey orders, your highness," Guilford retorted, almost shaking with anger.

"Very well then." Carline drew herself up. "I, Carline la Britannia, Fifth Princess of the Empire, order you, Sir Alexander Bismarck Waldstein, Viscount San Clemente, to go at once to Ashford Academy. Is that order enough for you, Lord Guilford?"

"Your highness," Guilford growled. "I _urge _you to reconsider!"

"I concur," Johann spoke up gravely. "We cannot allow the _Lancelot _to fall into enemy hands." Guilford said nothing, and Alexander wondered at the anger in his eyes.

"Very well," he said coldly. "Sir Alexander, Lieutenant Rai, your priority is the _Lancelot_, to be retrieved or destroyed as circumstances dictate."

"Yes sir!" Alexander and Rai both saluted. Guilford returned the salute with bad grace, and stalked off.

"What thin skin," Carline quipped. "Oh, and don't worry about Cornelia, Sir Alexander. She's up on the roof preparing for a showdown with Zero. I and my friends here," she gestured at the Trinity siblings, "will wait on the floor below, to assist her if need be."

"Very well!" Alexander bowed low. "Thank you, your highness!"

"Be off with you, Sir Alexander!" Carline waved him away, and Alexander and Rai hurried away to their knightmares.

"Make sure you rescue her!" Nena called after them. "Be sure to sweep her up in your arms and give her a big, _deep _kiss! Oh I'm so jealous!"

* * *

"Report, everyone."

"The White Sash brigade has taken Tokyo station, and the Saitama and Ibaraki brigades have moved up to the plateau," reported Kati Mannequin. "The rail depots are ready for operation, and the tracks are clear. We can bring up the reserves any time."

"The Tohoku division is on the plateau, Zero," added Kenta Himura, leader of the Samurai Blood faction, and commander of the Tohoku division. "Ueno station is open and operational."

"The Black Knights are ready to assault the bureau, Zero," finished Leesa Kujo.

"Very good. Well done everyone." Lelouch's mouth split in a grin of sublime satisfaction. "Attack as soon as you are in position." He ended the communication.

"They're here," CC commented. Lelouch looked up, and saw the contact markers on the main screen. At the touch of a button the screen zoomed in, revealing the _Albatross_ transports and _Carnwennan_ gunships flying in close formation. Cornelia's reinforcements had arrived.

"If they attack," CC went on, "it's all over."

"No need to worry," Lelouch replied, smiling. "The Energy Filler is fully charged."

CC obliged by levelling the _Gawain _ahead of the incoming aircraft. The Britannian _Albatross_ transport was truly a multirole aircraft, designed primarily for transport but also capable of functioning as a bomber. Judging by their tight formation, they had been fitted out as such, and intended to carpet-bomb the rebel forces before weighing in with their gun turrets. With the _Carnwennan_ gunships to support them, they would do a lot of damage.

Lelouch keyed for the Hadron cannons and took hold of the joysticks. Easing the targeting reticule onto the end of the line, he squeezed the triggers. The deadly beams lanced forth, cutting across the gap towards the unsuspecting bombers. Shivering with satisfaction, Lelouch eased the beams from right to left, brushing over them with the lightness of a paintbrush.

The gunships blew apart as the beams touched them. The bombers, with their armoured fuselages, held out better, though not by much. Controls sparked and flashed as bremsstrahlung flooded through them. Pilots and crew succumbed before they had time to scream. Liquid sakuradite fuel, on which the plasma electric engines relied, overheated and exploded, the blasts funnelling through the armoured fuselages to set off the stacked bombs and missiles.

Lelouch almost laughed aloud as the night sky was lit up with explosions. Never, not in winning Chess matches, not in commanding the Black Knights, had he felt such power.

He looked down at the battle. The bureau's guns had opened up, turning the collapsed plateau into a killing ground. He saw the flashes of explosions across the wall as Taniguchi's tanks fired back. Mostly all they did was scour the surface, but every now and again they were rewarded with the flash of a destroyed turret.

It was going well. Very well indeed. Now, if he could blast his way into the bureau from above, he might be able to give his suffering troops some relief. He opened a channel direct to Tohdoh.

"Tohdoh, I'm moving in on the bureau from above."

"You are?" Tohdoh sounded dubious. "Isn't it risky to rely on that machine's abilities?"

"I know," Lelouch replied, as CC brought them in to land. "I'm just going to cause some confusion. Keep at it for now."

As they landed neatly on the roof, Lelouch suddenly wondered why the guns hadn't fired on him. Even with the stealth system active, they should still have been able to target him optically. Were they too busy with the targets below?

Or were they…

His mind froze as he took in his surroundings. The roof of the bureau was a garden, complete with imitation Greek columns, a decorative mound, and even a gazebo. The lawns were neatly manicured, even now as a battle ranged all around, and awash with bright flowers. There was even a villa there, an ornate palace with elaborately-framed windows and a row of cloisters along the ground floor.

It was so…surreal, so out of place, that for a moment Lelouch couldn't make sense of it.

And he had seen it before.

He had seen a garden like it, a great many years ago. He had lived near it, walked in it, played in it, feeling the sun on his face…so long ago.

"This is…"

"Yes," CC confirmed. "Aries Villa."

"What?" Lelouch exclaimed, surprised. "How do you know that?"

"I'll explain later, when the time is right."

"Welcome Zero." The familiar voice was languid and syrupy, almost nauseatingly so. Lelouch looked up, and sure enough there was Cornelia's purple _Gloucester, _standing with lance erect, maybe thirty or forty metres distant, at the other side of the garden.

"This is your welcome soiree," Cornelia drawled, her tone so out of character that Lelouch wondered for a moment if grief and hate had driven her mad. "Would you care to dance?"

* * *

_**Ashford Academy**_

"Chigusa, why did you come to this battlefield?"

Ougi Kaname had a lot on his mind. Being sub-commander of the Black Knights had never been an easy job, any more than having to lead the old resistance cell had been. It wasn't that the battle was going badly, but having to set up a command post in a school, and keep the staff and students as hostages, was preying on his conscience.

And then _she _had turned up out of nowhere. Chigusa, the woman he had hidden and protected for all those months, since he had found her near Fukuoka harbour. Chigusa, the first woman he had ever had any real contact with. The woman he had known was a Britannian, and a knightmare pilot too by the callouses on her thumbs.

And yet he had hidden her, let her cook for him, let her behave as if she were his girl.

But now something was different. That gentle, open-hearted look in her eyes was replaced with something cold and hard, as if she had raised walls of stone about her heart.

His mind had almost snapped when the guards brought her to the command post. He'd had to make up some cock-and-bull story about her being a collaborator who reported to him, though in a perverse way it wasn't _entirely _a lie. It had taken a while before he could get away long enough to talk to her in one of the unoccupied rooms.

It might have been a dining room, in that it had a long table in the middle with four chairs. But the only things to draw his attention for more than a second were the two paper cranes on the table. One white, and one black.

What could they mean? Who among the Britannians cared to do origami?

He tried to take Chigusa by the shoulder, but she stepped out of his reach.

"Look, I'm sorry I hid this from you. But everything I'm doing is for the sake of peace!"

He wanted to believe it. He tried to make himself sound like he believed it. Even as he dreaded what would come, and what the others had in mind for Kururugi, trapped outside in the _Lancelot_, he _had _to believe it.

"If Zero can free Japan from Britannia," he went on pleadingly, "we can be together!"

"Oh stop before I puke!" Chigusa was moving. Before Ougi realised what was happening, she had snatched the handgun from his pocket and darted behind him. He felt the barrel press against the small of his back.

"I and an Eleven like you, together?"

Even her voice had changed. Now it was low and harsh, full of anger and resentment. The change was as shocking to him as her actions a moment ago.

"My name is Villetta Nu," she went on. "I am a Knight of Honour, in the service of the Holy Empire of Britannia."

"But…" Ougi spun round, and found himself staring into those golden eyes. Once so gentle, they were now as cold as ice.

"Do you know what you've done, Ougi Kaname?" Her voice was as hateful as her gaze. "Do you know what you've done to me? What you've taken from me?"

"I…I don't understand!" And he didn't. What could he have done to enrage her so? He had only tried to help, after all. Could she hate him that much? Could she hate his people that much?

Or was she talking about the time he tried to take her wet clothes off? Had she been semi-conscious? Had she heard him calling every other person he knew to ask how to take a woman's clothes off? Did she think he had…?

"You made me…_Chigusa!_" she spat, her aura almost volcanic. "You…took my honour, my _dignity_! You played with me like a doll! You…! You…!" She faltered, and Ougi's heart clenched as he saw tears in her eyes.

Was she weeping for him? Or for herself?

"I…I was only trying to help!" Ougi protested. He was at her mercy, and only his words could save him. "I didn't know what else to do! You had amnesia! You were hurt!"

"But why?" Villetta demanded, eyes blazing. "Why did you, an Eleven, help me, a Britannian? Why not leave me to die, as you wish for all my people?"

"Because I'm a Japanese man," Ougi replied, with as much dignity as he could manage. "Not an Eleven, and not a beast. I don't want to kill or hurt people just for being Britannian or anything else."

"Liar!" The gun cracked, and Ougi felt a hot, stinging pain in his stomach.

"I…" He fell to his knees. "I didn't…mean…to hurt…you…"

And all was darkness.

* * *

Something had gone wrong.

The three of them knew it, though they had only a smattering of Japanese between them. Men and women in Black Knights uniforms were running up and down the corridors, shouting and babbling. The low-grade tension of a few minutes ago had gone up to borderline panic.

It was no comfort.

"Oh…!" Rivalz Cardemonde wailed, clutching his head. "Now they've got Suzaku too!"

It was a reminder none of them wanted. They had hoped for a moment that Suzaku, their fellow Student Council member, their friend, might have come to save them. Instead of which he had ended up on the ground outside, his knightmare caught in some kind of high-tech trap, while the Black Knights set about cutting their way in.

Milly Ashford, for her own part, did not fancy his chances. She knew quite well how many of the Elevens, or Japanese as they preferred to call themselves, felt about Suzaku Kururugi. His fate, once they dragged him out of the cockpit, would be neither pleasant nor swift.

She glanced from one to the other of her fellow members, as well as the fourth member of their company. Unlike the rest of them, Nunnally actually spoke a little Japanese, though out of all of them only Milly knew how she had come to acquire her limited mastery of the language. She hadn't said a word since the Black Knights had arrived, not even when Kallen had taken off her visor and revealed all. Milly knew that Nunnally wasn't half as frail as Lelouch thought she was, at least not mentally or emotionally, but this was a fairly extreme situation. Rivalz was on the verge of falling apart, though that was nothing new.

And then there was Shirley. As Milly glanced at her friend, she couldn't help but notice her pretty face, her long auburn hair, that nice figure, and those ample breasts. If the male Black Knights decided to put aside civilized conduct, then she and Shirley would share a fate worse than death.

Might Nunnally also? Would they be that depraved?

As much as she tried to see the best in people, as much as she understood what the Elevens had been through, Milly wouldn't have put it past them. Plenty of Britannians were beasts, a fact she knew well due to the number of times she'd been forced to socialize with them, but one didn't have to be Britannian to be a beast.

And what about Nina? She hadn't seen her old friend in hours, and there was no indication that the Black Knights had found her. That meant, assuming she was still alive, she was probably down in the _Ganymede_ hangar, engrossed in building whatever it was she was trying to build. As she had been since the terrible news had come in.

Milly wasn't sure how many more shocks she could endure. Princess Euphemia was dead, gunned down by a Japanese woman for money and hate. The settlement was being overrun, their whole world collapsing around them. Kallen had revealed herself as a rebel, a Black Knight no less.

Kallen.

She had known about Kallen's background. She had long since guessed that Kallen wasn't the near-invalid she pretended to be. She had gotten the distinct impression that Kallen wasn't happy with the Britannian half of her heritage, and that she was hiding something of great importance.

But she had never pried, never asked any questions. In her experience, just about everyone had something to hide.

Maybe she should have done.

Would it have made a blind bit of difference? Any more than Shirley's frantic phone call to Alexander Waldstein, begging him to come and save them?

She had taken a huge risk in getting Shirley to do it, Milly knew well. If the Black Knights had found out, their situation would have gotten very bad very quickly, Zero's promise or no.

"Now's your chance. Please, go!"

All three gaped at Nunnally in surprise.

"Please," she went on, her face as determined as they had ever seen it. "Please, go and help Suzaku! He needs you!"

"No Nunnally!" Shirley insisted. "Sir Alexander will come! I just know it!"

"You really think?" Rivalz asked dubiously. "This is the Britannian military we're talking about here."

"Sir Alexander isn't like that!" Shirley protested, with a fervour that surprised Milly. "He's gentle and kind! He's a true knight, not like those others! He said he'd come!"

"You're right Shirley," Nunnally spoke up. "You're right about him, but Suzaku is still our best chance for now."

"She's right," Milly said, standing up. "Let's go everyone."

"What about Nunnally?" Rivalz asked. "We can't just leave her here!"

"If they want to hurt me," Nunnally said, "it'll make no difference whether you're here or not. Please go now, I'll be fine."

Nervously, glancing back at Nunnally, Rivalz and Shirley followed Milly to the window.

* * *

_**Government Bureau, Tokyo Settlement, Area 11**_

Cornelia slammed down the pedals, a cry of vengeance bursting from her throat as the _Gloucester _leapt forward.

"My sister will be avenged!"

The _Gawain _jinked sideways, lashing out with one golden-fingered hand. Cornelia dodged, coming around the _Gawain _in a smooth arc.

"What's wrong Zero?" She charged in again, swiping at the _Gawain'_s legs with her lance before pulling away again. _Gawain _staggered, falling back against the nearby wall of the replica villa. Cornelia brought up her Assault Rifle one-handed, and unleashed a deluge of tracer into the stricken knightmare. The _Gawain_'s armour was made of some new substance she hadn't heard of, and most of the bullets bounced and ricocheted away, but the force of the impacts was enough to drive it back against the wall, keeping Zero on the back foot.

She had him. Now was the time. Here was her vengeance.

But the _Gawain _was moving. Its float engines were online, emerald green panes flashing into life from the stubby wings, bearing the knightmare aloft. He was trying to escape.

"Weakling!" Cornelia roared, firing her Slash Harkens. The rocket anchors caught the _Gawain _about the shoulders, and she jammed down the thumb rollerball, the retraction hauling her skyward. She felt herself soaring, and for that instant all her hatred, all her anger, all her grief had disappeared, replaced by the exultation of flying into battle.

"I have you!" she roared, landing her _Gloucester _on the _Gawain_'s chest. "Your life is in my hands!" She leant the _Gloucester _back, bringing up her Assault Rifle to aim straight at the helpless _Gawain_'s head. "This is your judgement!"

She fired, only for the _Gawain_'s hand to slap the rifle away, sending the shots wide. The other hand punched her _Gloucester _in the upper torso, the force of it enough to dislodge the Slash Harkens. Cornelia felt herself falling, but still managed to swing her lance, catching the _Gawain _and sending it sprawling. She felt the _Gloucester _hit the roof, warning lights flickering around the legs on the diagnostic display.

But she was still standing.

The _Gawain _crashed into the replica villa, disappearing into a cloud of dust. Cornelia stared at the ruin as the dust began to clear, rifle levelled and ready.

"_You're not worthy of that machine, Zero_," she thought, breath hissing between her gritted teeth. "_I'll tear you out of it, and then give it to my brave Guilford, or my good Darlton, or my noble Alexander. They'll show us what that machine can do._"

But no, it couldn't be Alexander. Schneizel had promised him the newest prototype, after all, in response to her wearisome petitioning.

"_Alexander, I won't be long._" An image of him as a child, waiting patiently for her outside her bedroom back at the military academy, hovered in her mind's eye. "_I'll destroy Zero, then I'll destroy Bradley, then we'll find out who killed Euphie. We'll cry our tears together, then we'll go into battle once again, as we did before. We'll win glory as we did before, piloting machines like these. We'll share in our victories, and drink to the honoured dead. If there's only to be one more war, I'll be satisfied if I can say I shared it with you."_

There was a rumble inside the wrecked villa, indicating to Cornelia that something was moving. Her scanners couldn't see through the still-standing walls, and the drifting dust was playing havoc also. All the same, she could tell he was there.

The wall could resist her vision, but not her bullets.

"Thus always to rebels, Zero." She prepared to fire.

And then she lurched forward as something struck her knightmare in the back. Shrapnel tore through the cockpit walls, and Cornelia felt the stinging pain as her body was perforated. Warning alarms shrieked, her controls crackling and spitting.

"But…who…?" Her crippled _Gloucester _slumped to the ground.

* * *

As the _Gawain_ tore itself free of the wrecked villa, Lelouch was confronted with a tableau of destruction.

The elegant garden was a blasted, burning ruin. The columns had been broken, truly rather than artistically. The gazebo and arches were wrecked, and upon the ravaged lawn lay Cornelia's wrecked _Gloucester_.

If the garden was supposed to evoke the glories of ancient Rome, then it was Rome just after the Vandals had done their pleasure.

There was an amusing irony in that, or rather there would been if Lelouch's thoughts were not elsewhere, specifically on what had happened. It was possible her knightmare had succumbed to some sort of equipment failure, but it was highly unlikely.

So who had attacked her? There was no one else around. Was it Neil? Either way, he had no time to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Rip that cockpit open," he ordered. "Then lower me down there."

"You're sure you want to?" CC asked, as she manipulated the _Gawain_'s arms to tear the stricken _Gloucester_'s cockpit open. "Aren't you even going to put on your mask?"

"No," Lelouch replied coldly, picking the mask up as the cockpit opened. "I want her to see my face. I want her to know, to understand." CC did not reply as he stepped onto the _Gawain_'s open hand. The night wind made his cloak billow as the hand lowered him down. As he stepped off onto the stone paving, he could see Cornelia's face looking up at him from inside the freshly-opened cockpit. She was wounded, badly so, but her eyes still focussed on him, and he saw the flash of recognition, of understanding.

"I see," she croaked. "So you were Zero, the entire time."

"Yes," he replied. "I was."

"Darlton was right," she went on. "He said it was someone with a grudge against the Imperial family. You did this for Nunnally?"

"Correct," Lelouch replied mildly. "I will demolish the world that is, and build a better one in its place."

"You killed them all for that?" Cornelia demanded, her empyrean fire still burning though her voice was weak. "Clovis? Even Euphie?"

"I admit I killed Clovis." Lelouch's countenance was brooding and dark, as if shrouded in shadow. "I wish I had not done it, but I did. As for Euphie, you're insane if you think I would kill her."

"Talking with you," Cornelia rasped, trying to rise, "is pointless."

"Yes, it is." Lelouch exposed his left eye. "Lelouch vi Britannia commands you to answer him!" The geass took effect, with such speed that Lelouch was mildly surprised. He chalked it up to her weakened condition.

"Sister," he said, preparing his words. "Are you the one who killed my mother?"

"No." Her voice was soft, and as vacant as her eyes.

"Then who was it?"

"I don't know." The latter answer took Lelouch by surprise.

"But…you were commander of the household division!" he spluttered. "Were you not?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you withdraw her guards?"

"I was asked to."

"By whom?"

"Lady Marianne."

For a moment, Lelouch's heart stopped beating.

"Mother…but that's…"

Images flashed through his mind. The sunny morning, her smile as she lowered her teacup, that mischievous gleam in her eyes…

"_Would you like it if Alexander was your big brother?_"

"_Mother?_"

"_Would you?_"

"_Well…yes, yes I would._"

"_I think he'd like that too." A wink. "I'll put it to him today, so don't say anything until later, all right? It has to be a surprise."_

"She can't have!" he protested, fighting down the horror and grief. "She wouldn't have!"

"_She wouldn't have known!_" he thought, the scenario running around and around inside his mind. "_She would've gotten us out of there! She would've fought back! It had to be someone she trusted!"_

"Who was it?" he roared. "You have to know! Who killed my mother damn it? At least tell me who knows!"

Silence. Cornelia just lay where she was, staring at him as vacantly as one of Nunnally's old dolls.

"His majesty," she said, so suddenly as to make his heart skip a beat, "ordered Schneizel to take the body away. That's all I know."

"_Schneizel,"_ Lelough thought, "_and him. It could have been…_"

"Hey!" CC yelled over his earpiece. "Get back in here!"

"I know!" Lelouch called back, mildly irritated by the interruption. "The defence forces will be here soon!"

"No!" CC knelt the Gawain down, reaching out a hand. "Your little sister's been kidnapped!"

"Hmm?" For a strange moment, Lelouch genuinely didn't know what to think. Incredulity and soul-bending terror bounced back and forth inside him, neither able to take hold, as he strode towards the proffered hand. "CC, this is no time for jokes. We'll take Cornelia back as our hostage."

"I just know!" CC pleaded, and something in her voice gave Lelouch pause. "I know because she's your reason for living! She's on Kamine Island!"

"Kamine…"

And then there was light all around, so bright that it burned his eyes even through his visor. Zero threw his arm across his face to shield his eyes, his mind thrown into turmoil.

"That will be quite enough of that, Zero." The voice speaking through a knightmare's loudspeaker sounded worryingly familiar. The lights turned down, and Zero made out four _Gloucesters_, arranged in a covering pattern. One stood atop the grassy mound, an ornate _Gloucester_ painted blood-red, Shot Lancer held erect and Assault Rifle aimed straight at him. Two more stood either side of the mound, their weapons aimed likewise. A fourth _Gloucester_, painted the colour of dried blood and emblazoned with the crest of the Round Table, stood a few metres away. Unlike the others, it wasn't carrying a Shot Lancer.

"Who dares?" Lelouch roared, cursing himself for a damned fool.

"I, Carline la Britannia!" replied the _Gloucester_ atop the mound. "It's been such a long time, brother Lelouch."

* * *

**Finally. I can only apologise for the time this took. I was badly distracted by other, more pressing matters, and repeated attacks of writer's block didn't help much either. Anyway, here it is. I was going to do this as one big chapter, but Zaru and I later decided to split it at this point. The next chapter shouldn't be too long with any luck. **

**One problem I had was figuring out the precise layout of Tokyo Settlement, and how much damage Zero collapsing the block did. The only official information is that the perimeter is effectively the Yamanote subway line, and that the government bureau is positioned approximately in the centre. For anyone who's interested, Shinagawa, Tokyo, and Ueno stations form a line up the east side of this area, which is in part why Zero sent the rebel divisions there. Also, the rail network would allow them to move large numbers around with comparative ease.**

**Probably the most substantial change from canon is Lelouch's duel with Cornelia. The main change is that Darlton doesn't backstab her this time, which he only did in canon thanks to being Geassed by Lelouch. Since Lelouch didn't get the opportunity this time, of course he wouldn't do it. If it wasn't already obvious, the treacherous blow was struck by Johann Trinity, who as a Knight of the Round Table gets a pimped-out **_**Gloucester **_**for the moment, similar to those advertised for Akito the Exiled. **


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

_**Government Bureau**_

"Carline!" Lelouch's heart pounded like a drum, his nerves stinging as if he was being wrapped in cheese wire. "What do you want?! Are you here for Cornelia?!"

"Not in the way you think." The red knightmare turned its head towards the stricken Cornelia. "I just want to see her die in agony before I return to the homeland. Oh, and tell your friend not to try anything. Lord Johann is very capable, and even Michael can't miss at this range." There was a grunt of irritation from one of crimson trio.

Lelouch tried to think, tried to formulate a plan. But there was no plan, and there could be no plan. Four knightmares had their guns trained on him and the _Gawain, _and even a novice couldn't fail to put the _Gawain _down if CC tried to flee. And out in the open as he was, with no real cover and no other escape route, he was as naked as the day he was born.

He was _helpless_.

"Carline," Cornelia coughed. "Carline…why?"

"Why?" There was something in Carline's electronic tone, something harsh and brooding. "Why do you think, sister Cornelia? Why do you suppose I would go to all this trouble? Why, it's so that you can see everything you've ever hoped for crumble to dust before your eyes." The red knightmare fell silent. Lelouch pictured the girl inside, with that bright red hair and those sea-blue eyes. A vision came to him, of a small, fat hand yanking on one of Nunnally's pigtails. He saw his own hand grab Carline's by the wrist and pull it away, his mouth opening to shriek anathema, and then catching a glimpse into those blue eyes.

He had seen something in there, something that hadn't been in the eyes of the others who had bullied Nunnally.

_Hatred_.

"You!" Cornelia roared, her soulfire blazing bright with fury, seeming to revitalize her despite her injuries. "It was _you_! You killed Euphie!"

"Oh my!" Carline proclaimed, to the sound of slow, sarcastic clapping. "Did you work that out all by yourself?!" Cornelia looked ready to scream, or else to howl in fury and despair. When she finally managed to speak, only one word came out.

"Why?!"

"Why?" Carline's tone was suddenly harsh and bitter. "Is it so strange that I'm not ready to die just yet?"

"No!" Cornelia shrieked, half-protesting, half-denying. "Euphie _loved _you! She would _never _have hurt you!"

"And what about the people you've killed?" Carline retorted darkly. Even her knightmare had a brooding air about it. "What about the nations you've conquered? The people you've enslaved? Were they hurting Euphie? Were they a threat to Britannia? You would have drowned the world in blood to see her made Empress! And so long as one of us is alive and can be propped in front of a camera, she would never be secure! Don't try to deny it Cornelia! I know how it works!"

"You killed her for _that_?!" Cornelia's eyes blazed with hate. "Do you realise what you've done?!"

"Don't try to push this on my princess!" interjected a female voice from the red _Gloucester _on Carline's right. "It's _your _fault she's dead!" At those words, Cornelia's breath caught in her throat.

"I would have spared her, Cornelia!" Carline went on bitterly. "She wouldn't have been a threat if you had let her go, let her do as she wanted. She could never be Empress with an Eleven for a husband! But _you _had to interfere, didn't you! You had to ruin everything, because it was the only way you could justify the life you've lived!" Carline barked a harsh, caustic laugh.

"And so _I _had to do it!" she snarled. "Me! Nasty, bloodthirsty little Carline! I had to kill her, the noblest and purest of us all! _I _had to kill her, because no one else could! I had to kill her, because you couldn't bear to let her live for herself!"

Cornelia seemed to deflate, as if the life was draining out of her. The fire in her eyes dimmed, and to a part of Lelouch she was, as he had never seen her before, utterly and completely defeated.

"They won't let you get away with this," he heard himself say. "You've signed your own death warrant."

"I know," Carline replied, somewhat wistfully. "Schneizel will probably kill me anyway. But I don't mind that, not really." The _Gloucester_'s head turned back to Cornelia.

"I don't mind, because I can die knowing that your damnation is far worse than mine. Everything you've worked for, everything you've suffered, sacrificed, and murdered to create, brought down by your own pride. That's what I wanted you to know. That's what I wanted you to understand, before you die."

"Don't worry, dear older sister," she sneered, aiming her Assault Rifle straight at Cornelia's breached cockpit. "I'll take _especially_ good care of Sir Alexander for you."

"Me too!" giggled Nena.

Lelouch's mind was a panic-stricken blank. He could neither move nor think. He was about to die, and everything he had struggled and suffered to bring about would be for nothing.

And Nunnally would be alone…

There was a burst of gunfire, and Lelouch steeled himself for the flash of pain before his body was blasted apart.

But it wasn't.

He felt himself stumble and fall onto the _Gawain_'s outstretched hand. As the hand lifted, Lelouch watched in disbelief as the roof seemed to explode up and outward. He barely remembered to put the mask back on as _something _emerged from the conflagration.

"ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!" the thing roared, hovering in mid-air as dust and debris descended around it. Zero gaped as he finally got a clear look.

The machine was a sphere, or perhaps a flattened cone, coloured a shade of bronze that looked more like orange. Five conical vanes radiated out from it like the points of a star. But what truly shocked Zero was its _size_. Not counting the ventral vane, it had to be twenty metres across at least.

CC had the presence of mind to start retracting the _Gawain_'s hand. As it lifted Zero back towards the cockpit, he saw a figure standing up to its waist in an open hatch atop the machine. Though he couldn't see the figure clearly, there something…not quite right about it.

"Can it be?!" the figure shrieked. "Is it Zero?! What luck! What fate! What evil fortune!"

"Orange?!" Zero blurted out as he reached the cockpit.

"Wait! I beg a favour!" Jeremiah clamped his hands together as if pleading. "Please die!"

"Damn it!" Zero snapped as he dropped into his seat. "Get Cornelia!"

"Right!" CC worked the controls, reaching the _Gawain'_s hands for the wrecked _Gloucester_'s cockpit. But the bizarre machine was moving, throwing itself against the _Gawain _like a giant wrecking ball. The force hurled the _Gawain _away and over the edge of the roof, dragging Cornelia's _Gloucester _along in a shower of sparks. With CC and Zero too stunned to react, the maimed knightmare fell from the _Gawain_'s grasp, plummeting into the darkness below.

* * *

"What the hell was that?!" Carline snapped, watching the orange sphere blaze away into the night.

"I don't know for certain, your highness!" Johann replied, surprise evident in his tone. "It may be one of his highness Prince Schneizel's projects!"

"Well that's all I need!" Carline groused, glancing across the ruined garden. "Thanks to him we lost Cornelia!"

"Don't worry about that!" Nena interjected happily. "She won't have survived _that _fall!"

"I know," Carline replied sourly. "I just wanted to kill her myself, that's all."

"Your highness," Johann interjected. "Respectfully, we should head down and join the defence, lest our being here arouse suspicion."

"You're probably right. Let's…" A rush of air cut her off as another machine, seemingly identical to the previous, leapt up through the gap and halted above them.

"Get ready for a surprise!" shrieked a particularly deranged-sounding voice through its loudspeakers. "HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE'RE'S HALLELUJAAAAAAAAH HAAAAPTIISMMMMMMMMMMMMMMAH!"

* * *

The purple _Gloucester _vanished in a flash of light, but Neil Dylandy was already searching for another target. The Britannian knightmares had realised that they were being sniped, and as such had gotten leery of moving from cover. As such, there was little to find.

"_Getting a bit thin at this end_."

"Attention all units!" Leesa's voice disturbed his concentration. "New contact from atop the HQ! Zero has designated it maximum priority!" A new window appeared on his main screen, containing a picture of the weirdest-looking machine Neil had ever seen.

"Dylandy to G-1," he said. "Colonel, what the hell kind of knightmare is that? It looks like a giant flying orange!"

"I know Neil," Leesa replied, sounding as dubious as he felt. "But he's giving Zero some trouble, so keep an eye out."

"Got a designation for it?"

"Death Star?"

"Funny." Neil raised his _Gekka_'s head, scanning around the top of the HQ for any sign. All he could see was a cloud of smoke, and what looked like explosions.

"G-1," he said, keying the comm again. "Looks like a battle going on up there, should I…wait a sec." He trailed off as the smoke cleared and he saw what was happening. There was _another _flying orange, zipping back and forth, apparently doing battle with some knightmares on the roof. It was winning."

"I think I see his ugly brother," he said. "Taking him out." He brought up the targeting scope, but the enemy was flitting around in so random a fashion that it was hard to get a fix.

"_Come on,_" he thought. "_Just stand still a minute. I'll settle for a straight run, that be okay?"_

All at once, the enemy shot up into the sky, coming around in a smooth arc. As it began its dive back down to the roof, Neil lined up his shot. He fired, the shot catching the enemy on the side and knocking it sideways.

The enemy stopped, hovering where it was, as if it did not understand what had happened.

Then it turned, ever so slowly, and Neil felt a shiver down his spine. It was as if the machine was somehow _looking _straight at him.

It _was _looking straight at him.

Worse, it was _coming _straight at him.

"Shit!" Neil hissed. "G-1! Incoming!"

He leapt from his hiding place as the orange machine came blazing in. It smashed through the floor on which he had been hiding, with enough force to bring the whole building crashing down. Neil forced down the pedals, racing away to dodge the worst of the debris. He swung round, firing his heavy coilgun straight into the enemy as it rose from the rubble. The shots hit, but seemed only to dent the armour.

"What have we here?!" screeched the machine as it turned to face him again. "A little insect that stings!"

"Somebody help me out here!" Neil yelled. "This bastard's tough!"

"Coming!" replied Louise Halevy, her red _Gekka _slewing past him on the right, wrist-autocannon blazing. Patrick Colasour's teal _Gekka _did likewise, racing past on the left.

"Oh!" cackled the machine. "That tickles!" It began to spin on its horizontal axis, its blade-like spines glowing white with malevolent energy. The machine dived, tearing a furrow in the ground as it came on. Louise managed to dive out of the way, but three _Burai_s behind her were not so lucky. It ascended, and spun on its axis to face them again. To Neil, it seemed as if the machine was laughing at them.

It _was _laughing at them.

The machine dived again, shrieking laughter from its loudspeakers, aiming straight for Patrick Colasour's teal _Gekka. _ The lieutenant fired his missiles, wreathing the diving machine in explosions, but still it came on. Patrick dived, but the slicing blades cut through his _Gekka _at the torso, sending the torso bouncing away across the rubble.

"Lieutenant!" Neil exclaimed, horrified. "Lieutenant Colasour! Are you all right?!"

"Owwwww!" Patrick griped over the comm. "That really hurt!"

* * *

Hallelujah was exultant.

The _Siegfried _GN was everything they had promised. At first he had been annoyed at having to pilot a machine shaped like a giant orange, but that was until he'd gotten inside, and the thing had come online.

The experimental GN reactor, the one Livonze was so proud of, drove his armoured machine on without limit. The particles wreathed the _Siegfried_, reflecting scanner emissions and, at the highest level of emission, actually blocking attacks. They even coated his Slash Harkens, helping them to slice through any armour.

It was_ powerful_. It was _tough_. It was _fast. _It responded to his every thought, his every whim. It was as bloodthirsty as he was. It lusted for destruction as he did.

"Helloooooooooooooooooo!" he cooed, as his eyes fell on the cluster of vehicles ahead of him. With a thought, the _Siegfried _blazed towards them. On the main screen, Hallelujah saw a single _Caliburn_ tank, daubed with graffiti, surrounded by _Burai _knightmares and what appeared to be a supply truck. He saw another tank on a line about a hundred metres along, and another, and another.

"Are you ready to die, little tin soldiers!" he roared, as the knightmares opened up on him. He barely felt the 30mm rounds hissing and cracking as the _Siegfried_'s GN field erased them from existence. They were weak and pathetic. They were fools to try and fight him.

Fools he would destroy.

"What's that Siegy?" he asked aloud. "Kill them all? Good Idea!"

Hallelujah dived at the knightmares, letting fly his Slash Harkens. The spear-like blades struck, harpooning the knightmares like fish. He laughed aloud as he drew the Harkens back, then spun in mid-air, the cables coiling and whipping, hurling the impaled knightmares away. He glanced down, and saw that the supply crew had abandoned their attempt to re-arm the tank, and were running for cover.

"Don't leave your toys lying around!" he shrieked, diving towards the tank. "Somebody might _step_ on them!" Though his cockpit remained level, the whole _Siegfried_ rotated on its axis, then spun to turn the retracted Slash Harkens into a giant cutting blade. He felt the vibrations as the blades cut through the tank and the truck, and the force of the explosions as he pulled up and away. He dived again on the next tank, felt it come apart below him, and as he ascended he saw that the remaining two had noticed him, and were turning their guns upon him.

"You think your little popguns can hurt me?!" Hallelujah dived again, slicing through the nearest of the two remaining tanks. The lone survivor fired, the shell spanging off the _Siegfried's _armour. Hallelujah cackled with glee as he brought the giga-fortress up once again, ready to dive down on the defenceless tank.

"_No…"_

Hallelujah gagged as he felt his mind freeze. The sudden paralysis maddened him, his sadistic pleasure blazing up into fury.

"Don't you dare!" he yelled, to the hindrance that wasn't there. "Don't you dare, Allelujah!" Down below, the crew were bailing out of the tank, fleeing in terror across the debris-strewn ground.

"_I won't let you._" The voice seemed to come from his left. Hallelujah's head jerked around in reflex, remembering an instant later that there was no one inside the _Seigfried GN_'s cockpit. As he remembered, his eyes fell on the polished bronze of the interior wall, and the image staring back at him.

Too late.

Hallelujah screamed in impotent rage as the crimson bird swooped into his eyes. He felt himself falling into the blackness, his fury and bloodlust draining away as he fell, until he didn't want to do anything but _sleep. _

Allelujah gasped as he felt himself awaken. For a fraction of an instant his body blazed with mingled agony and ecstasy as every nerve-ending fired off in response to the touch of his mind.

He saw. And he remembered.

"Oh lord…" His voice was hoarse with the knowledge of it. "Oh _lord, _what have I done?"

The sights and sounds ran through his mind. He saw the face peering down at him, so soft and childlike, yet with eyes both ancient and terrible.

"_Sorry about this Allelujah, but I need Hallelujah for this. You're really not any use to me._"

He remembered the battle, the four red knightmares scattering to avoid his slash harkens, even as the green blades whipped and lashed at them. He remembered…

"_God forgive me…_" His cheeks were wet with tears. "_Oh God, forgive me._"

The _Siegfried GN _responded to his shame. Its float engines glowed pink, lifting it into the air, and flying far, far away.

* * *

_**Ashford Academy**_

Shirley had never felt so afraid as she did then.

Squatting behind a line of bushes flanking a cluster of trees with Milly and Rivalz, she could only watch as a Black Knights knightmare began cutting into the immobile _Lancelot_'s cockpit.

Afraid, and also entirely helpless. Against a horde of armed and angry Elevens under the command of Zero, there was nothing she or her friends could do.

She couldn't even help Suzaku, trapped as he was inside that circle of strange lights. She couldn't stop them from cutting into his cockpit and dragging him out, to face whatever dreadful fate they had in mind.

And it would be dreadful, that much was certain. She heard, even sensed, the relish with which the Black Knights had set about their work. She had heard the hateful, vengeful words with which they had spoken of the _Lancelot_'s pilot, words far more vehement that those they had directed at their Britannian prisoners.

Intellectually she knew it was only to be expected. To her and the rest of the Student Council, Suzaku was a fellow student and dear friend. To the Elevens, who called themselves Japanese once again, he was the worst kind of traitor, one who didn't merely serve the Britannians, but one who was actually _accepted _by them. For the Black Knights this was an abomination, a violation of their race and society, of everything that held them together and made them who they were. For them, Suzaku was a _traitor_.

"_Alexander!_" she thought, thinking of the surreptitious phone call she had managed to make. "_Alexander! Please come quickly!_"

She looked up at the night sky, eyes straining for any sign, any hint of his coming. But all she could see were the occasional glimmer of distant stars, and the occasional bright flash of a stray shot. The action was some distance away, around the government bureau, but she could hear the thump and crackle of gunfire.

And the sound of a phone ringing.

Fortunately Rivalz managed to answer it quickly.

"Lelouch," he hissed. "This is a bad time!"

"Is Nunnally there with you?" came Lelouch's voice from the phone.

"No, she's in the clubhouse. We're right next to it."

"Understood."

"No! Wait…!" But the phone went silent. "Where are you anyway?"

A click drew their attention upwards, to the young Black Knight who was aiming a sub-machine gun at them. He grunted something unintelligible, twitching his weapon sideways. Shirley had only a smattering of Japanese, but his meaning was plain.

With hands behind their heads, the three were herded towards the _Lancelot_, where that red-haired man named Tamaki was presiding. As they approached, the black knightmare backed away from the _Lancelot_'s cockpit, which it had as yet failed to penetrate. Tamaki turned, regarding them with dismissive eyes, as the young soldier asked him something in his native tongue. As far as Shirley could figure out, they were discussing what was to be done with them.

"Call Zero!" she blurted out, taking the one chance she had. Tamaki glanced at her, eyes narrowed, but Shirley knew from before that he spoke some English. "I guarantee Zero will protect us! If not, then something's wrong! He's trying to…"

"Shut up!" Tamaki barked back, into his thickly-accented English. "I know Zero! He wouldn't hesitate to shoot at…!"

"Stop!" All looked up as Suzaku emerged from the _Lancelot_'s cockpit.

"Oh, what's this?" Tamaki sneered, pointing his carbine at Suzaku. "You'll come out to help Brits, huh?"

"Suzaku…" Rivalz breathed, despair on his face.

"All we want is the white head," Tamaki went on, staying in English for some reason. "So a traitor like you can die here and now!" He levelled his carbine. Suzaku stood firm, his face grim, as if he had always known this would be his fate.

A black blur leapt from the bushes and hit Tamaki's carbine, bullets spraying up into the air. The Black Knight swore, and pushed the weapon back, hurling the whatever-it-was away. It landed on the grass, back arched, hissing in feline defiance.

"Arthur!" Suzaku whispered, surprised. Tamaki snapped something venomous at the hissing cat, then turned to shout at his subordinates. Shirley's Japanese was enough to make out the word 'kill'. The two Black Knights guarding them levelled their weapons.

"AWAY FROM THEM!"

The cry was followed a moment later by a crash of falling trees. A grey-white shape leapt from the tree line about fifty meters away, cloak billowing as it spun to face them.

"Whelp," said one Black Knight, plainly.

"We're boned."

"Waldstein!" Tamaki yelled, panic-stricken. "_Nigeru!_"

The Black Knights on foot ran for the clubhouse, but the black knightmare spun around, bringing up its rifle. The grey _Gloucester _fired its pistols, blowing the black knightmare's head and right arm clean off. The black knightmare turned and sped away as two of its brothers appeared from around the back of the clubhouse. The white _Gloucester _raced to the _Lancelot'_s side, accompanied by a purple _Gloucester,_ both firing at the two newcomers. The black knightmares exploded, the sound temporarily drowning the storm of gunfire that seemed to be coming from all over the academy.

"Miss Fenette," the grey _Gloucester_ said, turning to look down at her. "Are you all right?"

"Alexander…" Shirley breathed, staring up at the grey knightmare. "You came."

"Sir Alexander?!" Milly called, look bewildered and relieved. "Is that Rai too?"

"It's me, Madame President!" Rai's voice replied from the purple knightmare.

"Good evening everyone!"

All were brought up short, for the electronic proclamation seemed to have come from nowhere. It was only then that Shirley noticed the rumbling noise, and that it had been getting louder and louder for the past several minutes.

"Is that…?" Rivalz blurted out as an enormous shape hoved into view over the clubhouse.

"The _Avalon,_" Alexander confirmed, knowing the orange floatship by sight. He was mildly surprised that it had caught up so quickly.

Lines of tracer lanced up from the ground, pattering harmlessly on the _Avalon_'s Blaze Luminous. A shape detached itself from the ship's massive visage, jinking back and forth to avoid the ground fire coming its way. It landed next to them, revealing itself to be a grey and orange _Sutherland_ with wings identical to those of the _Lancelot_.

"Everyone! Please stand back!" the grey _Sutherland_ ordered in a female voice Shirley was sure she had heard before. The two _Gloucesters_ moved outside the circle of machines, Shirley, Milly, and Rivalz following suit. Once all were clear, the _Sutherland_ levelled its rifle at one of the machines, blowing it apart with a single shot.

From inside his cockpit, Alexander watched as Cecile methodically destroyed device after device, finally stopping as the _Lancelot _returned to life.

"Sir Suzaku," Alexander greeted Suzaku's face as it appeared on the comm screen. "You're working again?"

"Yes," Suzaku replied. "Thank you for coming. And thank you, Miss Cecile."

"My pleasure." Cecile Croomy's face was emotionless, as was her voice. "Suzaku, unlock your filler cover. I'll change your Energy Filler."

"Right," Suzaku agreed. "But, why did you come out here too Miss Cecile?"

"Good question," Cecile replied, as she set about removing the _Lancelot_'s energy filler. "Why did we, Lloyd?"

"We just came to recover the _Lancelot,_" said Lloyd Asplund's ever-cheerful face, as another window appeared. Alexander noted the dressing on his cheek, and wondered which of them had finally gone and done it. "And do a few other things." As he spoke, Cecile drew back from the _Lancelot _as it stood up, and pulled something from the carrying slot underneath her cockpit.

"It's a _Sutherland _arm," she said, holding the disembodied appendage up to the _Lancelot_'s left shoulder. "Does it fit?"

"It reads as compatible."

"Good." Cecile turned her attention to Alexander. "Major Waldstein, Lieutenant Rai, please let us replace your Energy Fillers also. We have plenty." Alexander glanced down at his energy gauge.

"Thank you Miss Cecile," he said. "What's the situation with the battle? What orders did Princess Cornelia give?" Cecile paused, and started to look worried.

"Miss Cecile?"

"Major, we haven't received any orders from Princess Cornelia," she replied, sounding as worried as she looked.

"She's not on the map anywhere," Lloyd added grimly. "And there's been an altercation on top of the bureau. Someone let the _Siegfried_ prototypes loose."

Alexander felt ice in his stomach as Cecile headed for the _Avalon_.

"Sir Alexander!" Suzaku proclaimed, his eyes determined. "Head for the bureau as soon as Cecile gets back! Princess Cornelia needs you!"

"Don't worry!" Lloyd added, suddenly cheerful again. "We can handle things here! We've just had some reinforcements!" As if to prove his point, a series of explosions reverberated across the academy grounds. Alexander saw a black shape bank around and under the _Avalon_, slowing down as it came on. He stared in disbelief as the machine began to change, its body lengthening and rotating until it took on the roughly-humanoid shape of a knightmare frame. As it came in for a graceful landing on the grass, its armour gleaming in light of the _Avalon_'s searchlights, Alexander stared at it in wonderment.

It towered over the other knightmares on long black legs, coming to about the same height as the _Gawain_. Its arms were spindly, but no less powerful-looking for it. In one hand it clutched a long-barrelled rifle that put Alexander vaguely in mind of _Lancelot_'s VARIS. Its torso was short and compact, topped by a head with a chevron visor and pointed ear-like comm-vanes.

The sight inspired Alexander, driving away his fear and weariness.

"Major Waldstein," said a cheerful voice from the comm. "Good to see you still alive."

"Major Aker!" Alexander exclaimed, seeing Graham's face on the screen. "I thought you were…"

"Out on the ocean? Well we were, but we decided to take a little test flight. From the looks of things it was as well we did." Another rumble of explosions punctuated his words.

"Anyway, you two should get going," he went on, over yet more explosions. "We can handle these guys, and we trashed their western railhead on the way in, so they won't be getting any reinforcements here."

"Sir Alexander!" shrieked an angry-looking Milly from by his _Gloucester_'s foot. "Kindly tell him to stop wrecking our school!"

"Ah, yes." Alexander shook his head, trying to clear it. "Major Aker, Miss Ashford asks that you and your squad…not overdo it."

"I'll do my best," Graham replied with a grin. "But the guys are getting a little over-enthusiastic!" He glanced to his left, and his grin vanished. "No Soma not the statue…ah jeez!"

As Cecile landed, carrying two more Energy Fillers, Alexander turned his knightmare to face Shirley once again. She was still gazing up at him, though despite the look of wonderment on her face, she seemed so very vulnerable.

"You should go with the others, Miss Fenette," he said gently. "The students are being loaded onto the _Avalon_. You'll be safe there."

"Okay." Shirley managed a tired smile. "Thank you, Sir Alexander."

"I could not do otherwise, Miss Fenette." Alexander had to fight the urge to dismount and put his arms around her.

* * *

Magnificent.

For Major Graham Aker, no other word would suffice.

The ATI was a work of art, of genius. It handled as if it were his own body, responding to the slightest twitch of the joysticks or press of the pedals. The cockpit was configured as a vertical wheel, allowing it to move smoothly as the knightmare changed from jet to battle mode and vice-versa. The controls were carefully arranged either side of his seat, giving him a clear view of the monitor that slanted up from just in front of the pedals. Through that monitor, he could see what was happening _below_ him as well as the other monitors let him see in front, above, and around him.

He brought his ATI in to land on an open field of grass behind the main academy buildings. Normally he would have taken a moment to marvel at the palatial sumptuousness of the school's architecture, but the four _Burai _knightmares racing towards him were a matter he could not afford to neglect.

Not that he wanted to.

With a tweak of his joystick, he brought up the rifle. A squeeze of the trigger sent a single shot into the closest _Burai, _hitting with such force that the unfortunate knightmare seemed to implode as it disintegrated. A second downed another _Burai _in the same fashion, the slug passing through its target to tear into the wall behind it, bringing it down in a cloud of dust. Graham felt a momentary twinge of embarrassment. It might behove him to apologise to Miss Ashford.

The other two _Burai_s were in firing range, levelling their Assault Rifles. Graham brought up his ATI's right arm, the long rotor already spinning. Made of the same substance as the ATI's armour, called E-carbon in the manual, the spinning blades sent the incoming bullets ricocheting away in all directions. As this occurred, Graham stowed the rifle on its slot on the ATI's back, his now free hand reaching for the knightmare's last, but by no means least, wonder.

The blade extending from the long handle was at first glance ridiculously slim, but it was merely a core for the true weapon. The narrow blade began to vibrate, as what appeared to be blue-tinged light shone from the handle, forming into a much longer blade. Graham's smile widened into a feral smirk, for he knew that what composed his sword was more than mere light.

It was the technology of the Maser Vibration Sword and the Revolving Blade Sword taken to its logical conclusion. As the central blade glowed red hot, then white hot, the particles unleashed from the handle underwent phase transition, becoming a blade of cerulean starfire.

Graham gave a cry of exultation as he raised the plasma sword high, charging straight at the nearest _Burai. _The enemy tried to back away, but Graham was too fast, coming upon him like a bolt of lightning and bringing the flaming blade down. So hot was the blade, that the stricken knightmare seemed to distort around it, bubbling and distorting like molten glass being blown. As it finally exploded, Graham was already turning away, lashing out with a blade that seemed to burn the very air as it passed. The remaining _Burai _just wasn't fast enough.

As the ruined _Burai _collapsed into scorched, melting wreckage, Graham straightened his ATI up, deactivating the sword. He looked around, taking in the devastation he had wrought.

Such power…

His eye fell upon a tiny figure, watching him from around the corner of the nearest building. Graham quickly focussed upon it, keying for the machine guns, zooming in the camera to see a young woman in civilian garb.

A young woman with bronze skin, and silver-blue hair, and eyes the colour of burnished gold.

"Villetta…"

For a moment he couldn't speak, or think. For a moment her image filled his mind, driving all else before it.

She was alive.

"Villetta!" he exclaimed, jabbing frantically at the loudspeaker control. "Villetta!"He knelt the ATI down, the better to see her, and pressed the button to open the cockpit.

But even as the cockpit began to open, the apparition vanished from sight.

"Villetta!" Graham yelled, his heart clenching at the thought of losing her again. He leapt from the opening cockpit, ignoring the juddering pain in his legs as he landed, and sprinted around the much-abused academy building. He saw what was unmistakeably his lost love, running away from him as fast as she could. He sprinted after her, his legs aching as he drew close enough to grab her by the hand.

"Viletta!" he called out, bringing them both to a halt. "Villetta, it's me!" But she did not turn to face him. She pulled her hand from his, and for an instant Graham feared she would try to run again. But she didn't.

"Viletta? Why?"

"I'm…sorry, Graham." The sorrow in her voice made his heart clench. "I can't."

"But…" Graham knew he sounded pathetic, like a heartsick boy, but he couldn't help himself. "I thought you were dead. I _love _you."

"And I love you, Graham." Viletta turned to face him, her eyes full of pain and shame. "That's why I can't, why I can't…forgive myself."

"For what?"

She told him. She told him of how she had been shot, of her amnesia, of her time living with Ougi Kaname, of how she had lived as _Chigusa._

"He dishonoured me," she went on. "I dishonoured myself, and I dishonoured you."

"No you didn't!" Graham protested, feeling as if his heart would burst. "You couldn't help it! It was amnesia!"

"I forgot all about you!" Viletta wailed. "I forgot who I was! I forgot everything that mattered!" She hunched over, fists clenched, tears streaming from her eyes. "I became an Eleven! I became an Eleven for _him_! I'm no better than an Eleven!"

"You're not an Eleven! You could _never _be an Eleven! You're you, and no one can take that from you!"

"Oh but they can, Graham!" She managed to look him in the eyes. "If something as random as hitting my head could steal away my honour, then men can do far worse. My honour is gone either way."

For what seemed like an eternity, neither had any words to say. The only sound was the receding crackle of gunfire.

"Is…it over then?" Graham asked, feeling his soul sink. "Can you truly not come back to me?" For a long time, Viletta did not reply.

"It's not that I don't want to," she said eventually. "It's that I _can't. _I'm not worthy of you, or of myself, as I am. I…can't be with you as I am."

"There's nothing wrong with you." Tears pricked at Graham's eyes. "Not that I can see."

"There will be a war soon." Viletta drew herself up, and in that moment he saw the woman he had fallen in love with. "I will go into battle, and fight with all my strength. If I am alive when it is over, then I will come back to you." She looked him straight in the eyes. "Can you wait for me, Graham? A little while longer?"

Graham's mind was in turmoil. A part of him wanted to fling his arms around her, to crush her to him and never let her go again, no matter what she said or wanted. He had lost her once already, and the thought of losing her again was more than he could bear.

But could he force her to stay with him? Could he deny her honour? Her dignity? Could he make her be something other than who she was?

"Viletta…" He managed a smile. "I thought I would have to wait forever. Just knowing you're alive…is enough to give me hope. I'll wait as long as you need me to." He took her unresisting hand, and bowed low to kiss it.

"Go now, my love," Viletta said in a low voice. "Your men need you."

"They're loading the students onto the _Avalon_," Graham replied, drawing himself up. "Go with them. I'll tell them you're coming."

"Thank you."

For a few heart-wrenching moments, Viletta held his gaze, before turning on her heel and running away. Graham strode back to his _Flag,_ and let the cable lift him to the cockpit.

Only when the hatch slid shut, and his face was hidden from sight, did he allow the tears to flow.

* * *

_**Haneda Airport**_

"Say again?!"

"Repeat, Zero has left the battlezone and is refusing all contact. His last message left Chief of Staff Tohdoh in command."

By dint of great self-control, Kati Mannequin managed to maintain her porcelain mask of calm. The situation had gone very bad very quickly. The command post up at Ashford Academy was under attack and liable to fall soon, while the western division had managed to lose its railhead _and _its supplies. On top of all that, the G-1 base had itself come under attack, and while the enemy had mysteriously withdrawn, it had nevertheless wrought sufficient havoc to allow a Britannian counter-attack.

And now Zero had left the field, without so much as a by-your-leave.

And now everything was falling apart.

It was unfortunate. Zero had shown real potential, or so she had thought once she'd had time to see him in action. But he suffered from a character flaw that had brought down all too many great commanders.

Zero was a micromanager. He felt the need to do everything himself, and had structured the Black Knights around himself. There were many talented individuals within its ranks, but he alone could hold the Black Knights together. He alone could organise them, inspire them, and command them. He alone could unite them; them, and the myriad rebel groups that had followed him to Tokyo Settlement.

Kati's lip curled in irritation. He had made himself the centre of everything, and the centre could not hold without him.

"I want status reports from Chief of Staff Tohdoh and Colonel Kujo immediately," she said aloud. "Any news from the Tohoku Division?"

"None, Colonel," the adjutant replied, his brow gleaming with sweat. "I've had a full team checking for the past hour. Their command structure appears to have completely collapsed. The last message from the command post at Ashford Academy stated that Commander Ougi is wounded." Kati suppressed a sigh.

"Priority message to Chief of Staff Tohdoh," she ordered. "Inform him of the situation, and advise that if he cannot hold the centre, I strongly urge him to order a general withdrawal." The adjutant nodded grimly, saluted, and headed to his tasks. Kati returned her attention to the map table, and the increasingly desperate situation it portrayed.

The Tohoku division had completely collapsed, and the Kanto division was under extreme pressure from the Britannian forces pushing out from the bureau. The situation would be bad enough for any army, but all she had to work with this time was a band of rebels that could barely be called militia, aside from a smattering of regulars. The Britannian category B garrison troops weren't the _crème de la crème_ of the Imperial forces, but they were still well-trained, well-equipped, and well-organised. As if things couldn't get any worse, Cornelia's Royal Guards were with them, along with a unit of five prototype knightmares that seemed to have torn the Tohoku division apart on their own.

Things couldn't get much worse.

"What's the situation in the hangars?" she asked, latching onto something useful.

"Okubo reports they've got the second _Albatross _operational!" replied one of the comm-operators.

"What of the other aircraft?"

"Checking… ninety-eight are ready, the rest report within the hour."

"Good. Tell them we need all aircraft ready as soon as possible."

"Yes ma'am!"

* * *

_**Government Bureau**_

Alexander felt his blood run cold.

It had started even as he had entered the perimeter. There had been something in the atmosphere, an air of loss, of desolation. It had grown worse and worse as he drew closer and closer to the massive tower of the bureau, its once-gleaming exterior pock-marked and scorched.

Then he had reached the base of the tower, seen the cluster of men and knightmares.

He was running even before his feet touched the ground. Leaving his knightmare behind he ran, his soul pleading over the sound of his pounding heart to let it not be true. He did not hear the shouts of anger as bystanders were knocked aside. He did not hear them cry out his name, or bid him halt. His only thought was of the circle, and what he already knew lay within it.

And there it was.

The purple _Gloucester _lay where it had fallen. Alexander had seen wrecked knightmares before, more times than he could be bothered to count. But the sight of _that _one, scarred, battered, fallen, had doused a flame inside his heart. It seemed to hover over his spirit, shrouding it like a dark cloud, pressing down upon him the inescapable truth of human existence.

With a cry of grief and denial, Alexander pushed through the innermost ring of bystanders. Ignoring their protests, he ran for the stricken knightmare's cockpit. He could see the jagged edge, but the interior was hidden from him, pointing in the other direction. Even as others ran after him, Alexander rounded the cockpit, ready and yet fearful of the sight he would find there.

Nothing.

Just the tattered remains of the safety harness, and what might have been blood on the seat and the ground next to it.

Blood…

Alexander focussed on the blood, and saw that the drops formed a line out away from the knightmare. He looked out along the trail, and saw that it led to what looked like the lip of an impact crater, most likely caused by the rebel artillery. Dreading what he might find, he followed the trail and peered down over the edge.

There was nothing there. Just an incline of twisted metal reaching down into the darkness.

"We don't know where she is." The voice made Alexander jump. He spun round to see Andreas Darlton standing there. The old warrior looked as tired as Alexander felt.

"General sir…"  
"She's not dead, lad," Darlton said, his tone hard but with an edge of weariness. "I've got men searching down there. She definitely made it onto the lower levels, and they think she might have entered the sewer."

Alexander wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that he hadn't failed after all, that Princess Cornelia was still alive. But the blood was right there.

"Listen to me, Sir Alexander," Darlton said harshly. "I know this looks bad, but she is _not _dead!"

"Sir…"  
"Do you think she would die that easily?" Darlton asked rhetorically. "Do you think she would just curl up in a corner and wither away? Believe what you want, but as far as I'm concerned she's not dead until I see the body!"

Darlton's conviction seemed to find its way into Alexander's weary heart. He felt some of his energy return, at least enough to stand tall.

"Yes sir," he said. "Please forgive my dereliction of duty."

"It was no such thing," Darlton insisted, his tone hard and level. "You obeyed your orders, and since you managed to retrieve the _Lancelot, _that more than justifies it."

"I should have been here sir!" Alexander protested, tears pricking at his eyes. "If I'd been here I could have done something! I could have helped her." For a long time, Darlton did not reply.

"You have a rather inflated opinion of your abilities, Major Waldstein," he said, a sneering edge to his tone. "To believe that you, alone, could have turned the tide. There's a word for that, _Sir _Alexander."

"General…"  
"Have I ever been anything less than honest with you, Major Waldstein?!" Darlton barked.

"No sir!"

"Then you will believe me when I say that you are not in any way responsible for this!" Darlton went on. "Princess Cornelia knew what she was doing! So did Lord Guilford!"

It took a moment for what Darlton had said to register. One look into the General's eyes confirmed Alexander's fear.

"Yes, Sir Alexander." Darlton's tone was softer, and some of his hard edge was gone. "He died for her, as he would have wanted."

Alexander hung his head. Gilbert G. P. Guilford hadn't exactly been his friend, not in the way he had been Darlton's friend. But he had been a mentor of sorts, and a good comrade.

"It's my fault," Alexander said hoarsely. "Because of me…"

"No, it was not." Darlton's hard edge returned with a vengeance. "Lord Guilford was a fine knight, better than you in all honesty. If he was not enough, then nothing could have been enough." For all his determination, Alexander could see the sorrow in his eyes.

"Yes sir."

"As far as I'm concerned you've done nothing wrong, Sir Alexander," Darlton continued. "But I can't guarantee that the higher-ups will feel the same way. There is a chance they will Court Martial you, and there'll be nothing I can do but speak in your defence."

Alexander felt a shiver run through him. He cared nothing for his own fate, but if a Court Martial were to find him guilty, it would reflect on Darlton, and Rai, and the other Royal Guards.

And his father.

The situation was too severe for anything else to happen. Two Imperial Princesses were lost, even if one was only presumed dead, and the most vital Area of the empire was in turmoil. It might be weeks, even months, before the sakuradite could flow again. Even if it failed, the Black Rebellion might already have dealt Britannia a long, lingering death-blow.

Someone would have to pay.

"Don't concern yourself with it." Darlton had evidently seen the fear in his eyes. "My name still carries some weight. I will _not _let them scapegoat you, this I vow!"

"Yes sir." Alexander tried to calm himself, to take comfort in his old commander's words. "I am grateful sir." He paused, gathering his courage. "May I ask how it happened?"

"We don't really know," Darlton replied, his mask of command slipping a little further. "The Vicereine engaged Zero on the roof as she intended. We know that Lord Guilford moved up there to support her not long after the duel started, followed by Princess Carline and her companions. All we have is from the Princess, who claims that the two prototypes came bursting through the roof. The first one attacked Zero as he was trying to make off with the Vicereine, causing him to drop her. She must have used her Slash Harkens to steady her fall. The second then attacked the Princess and her companions, destroying their knightmares before heading off to attack the rebels. The Princess thinks one of them took a shot at the prototype and provoked it."

"Prototypes, sir?" Alexander was confused, and a little intrigued.

"The Knight Giga-Fortress prototypes," Darlton related officiously. "_Siegfried _and _Siegfried GN, _built on the orders of his highness Prince Schneizel, apparently at great expense."

"What has become of them sir?"

"The _Siegfried _went chasing after Zero. They were last seen on a line to Kamine Island. The _Seigfried GN _attacked the rebel position in the centre, caused a fair bit of damage, then bugged out for no apparent reason." Darlton shook his head. "Not just a bad night, but a mad night too."

"Then, Zero has left the battlefield?" Alexander asked.

"He has," Darlton confirmed. "And between that and Major Aker and his squad, the enemy has been thrown into chaos."

By chance, the section of the bureau on which they stood gave them a clear view of the Shinagawa and Ota ghettoes to the south. Alexander could see the flashes of gunfire, the streaks of tracer lancing back and forth across the darkness below. Just beyond, he could make out the neatly-ordered lights of Haneda airport, about ten kilometres distant.

"Lord Crane has led a counter-attack on his own initiative," related Darlton grimly. "He's retaken Shinagawa station, but the rebels in the ghetto bogged him down. They've got the place defended in depth, and they're stiffening, at least down there."

"The airport," Alexander said, his wits returning. "They must be using the airport as their command centre. It'll have the equipment for it."

"That's what I'm thinking. We could fight our way through to the airport in a matter of hours, but it'll take days to flush the rebels out properly if they hold. With such numbers and their determination intact, we'd likely be cut off. I mean to reclaim the settlement and then hold the line until reinforcements arrive."

"General!" Alexander exclaimed, horrified. "If we hold back, they'll use the planes to escape! We've nothing to stop them!"

He knew he was right. After everything else, it would not be beyond Zero to have assembled pilots for the planes. Doubtless his plan had been to use the planes to move around Japan after the bureau had fallen, moving his Black Knights to where they were most needed. With not a single air base capable of putting fighters into the air, the Britannians would have no way of stopping them.

Or of stopping them from escaping.

"General!" he pleaded, seeing the weariness and uncertainty in Darlton's countenance. "Allow me to do it! Let me lead a force of knightmares down to Kawasaki! We can catch them as they take off at least!"

"What you'll do," Darlton replied, "is stay here and rest. I won't have you endangering my devicers by going out there half-dead with exhaustion. You've suffered enough lad."

"General, _please_!"

Darlton stared critically into his eyes.

"This had better not be about your feud with the pilot of that gold _Gekka_," he said darkly. "Because if it is, I'll break your sword over my knee, followed by your spine."

"It isn't, General."

"You're quite sure of that?"

Alexander paused, meeting Darlton's gaze as he chose his words.

"Because…I don't have the right to take revenge for myself, General."

Darlton continued to stare at him, for what felt like an age.

"Have you used any stimms today?" the general eventually asked, dubiously.

"No General. I never do."

"Go see the medics. Tell them I sent you."

"Yes sir!" Alexander snapped to attention and saluted. "Thank you sir!"

"Just remember what I said," Darlton growled back.

* * *

_**Haneda airport**_

The room in which the argument was taking place had once been the air traffic controllers' lounge. The decor was luxurious, far more so than Kati was used to, and in her opinion excessive for such a place. Then again, Britannians were known for their love of comfort. None of it was doing much to defuse the bust-up taking place, to which she was for the moment a mere bystander.

Chief of Staff Tohdoh stood at the centre of it, hands resting on his sheathed _katana _as if it were a walking cane, his eyes shut. Around him stood his _Shiseiken_; hard-faced Nagisa Chiba, portly Ryoga Senba, bespectacled Shogo Asahina, and spiky-haired Kosetsu Urabe. In contrast to Tohdoh's customary dignity,

"Lieutenant Colonel!" Nagisa barked, using her leader's old army rank. "It's too late to withdraw!"

"Take command sir!" Asahina pleaded. "The troops will follow you! We can still fight!"

"Respectfully, Chief of Staff," Kati interjected. "The situation is…"

"Butt out!" Nagisa snapped, rounding on Kati with fury in her eyes. "No one asked your opinion you…!" She trailed off as Kati matched her gaze.

"If you have something to say," Kati replied coldly. "Say it out loud."

"You Euros are all the same!" Nagisa snarled. "You won't fight for anything! You're always running away!"

Kati stood her ground. She could not say that Nagisa was entirely wrong. She knew about the Council of Forty. She had heard enough soldier grumblings about its bickering and pandering, about its constant interference and state military and even EUROFORCE affairs. But she wasn't going to admit it to _her_.

"Enough!" Tohdoh barked, making them all jump. "This bickering is pointless. My decision stands."

"Sir!" Nagisa protested.

"Colonel Mannequin is right!" Tohdoh snapped back. "The JLF may follow, but the rest came here for Zero, not for me. This battle is lost, and we must save what we can." He turned to Kati. "Colonel Mannequin, please oversee the evacuation. Get as many to safety as you can."

Kati saluted, and left the room. Tohdoh turned his attention to his disconsolate followers.

"I know what you're all thinking," he said, keeping his tone level as he looked each one of them in the eyes. "And you're right. Zero has failed us, and our chance of victory has fled along with him."

"But why, sir?" Shogo Asahina asked. "Why turn his back on us now?!"

"I don't know. And it doesn't matter." He paused.

"Sir," Nagisa spoke up, sorrow in her eyes. "If we leave now, we might never return."

"And if we stay here, we will die uselessly," Tohdoh replied, meeting her gaze for a moment. "We must take our chances overseas. Many of our people are in the EU, and many of them are willing to fight. We must rally them and carry on, even if it means fighting under Europe's banners."

"I don't like what I hear from Europe," Ryoga Senba interjected darkly. "It's said they keep most of the Japanese refugees in camps for fear that they might be spies."

"I have heard the same," Tohdoh admitted. "Between what we have, what we know, and _who _we know, we can bargain a better deal for our people. The EU needs fighting men and women above all else."

"Only so they can use them as cannon fodder!" Nagisa snarled. "They're decadent! They're no better than the _Buriki_!"

"Not _all _of them!" Kosetsu Urabe protested, drawing an angry look from Nagisa. "I mean, think what you want, but those Bolivar people don't seem like that."

"It's not about the soldiers," Tohdoh replied levelly. "They're the same as us."

"Besides," Senba added gruffly, "we're only cannon fodder if we die. I reckon we can show them a thing or too."

"That's how it worked before," Asahina put in with a shrug. "Historically I mean. You fight your way in, or you marry your way in." The last made Nagisa start.

"Then you will follow me?" Tohdoh asked, scanning his eyes over his four loyal followers.

As one, the Shiseiken saluted.

* * *

As Kati strode along the corridor, she encountered someone the person she least wanted to deal with.

"What is it, Hamid?"

"What the hell's going on Kati?!" the red-haired demon demanded. "Everything was going fine! Then Zero bugged out and everything's gone to hell!"

"Succinct as ever," Kati retorted sourly. "What exactly do you expect me to do about it?"

"I don't _expect _anything," Hamid growled, pouring a bottle of water over his head. The water dripped onto the floor around his boots. "All I want to know is what happens now?"

"What happens now is that we're leaving. The wounded will go first on the civilian planes, followed by civilians and as many fighters as possible, then we'll use the _Albatross_es.

"Fine," Hamid quipped. "This mission's FUBAR'd as it is."

"Where are the rest of the team?" Kati asked.

"On the G-1," Hamid replied. "Colasour got his _Gekka _wrecked, but he's okay." His face split into a leering grin as he saw the momentary flicker in Kati's eyes.

"I would have thought that idiot would have gotten himself killed by now," Kati commented dryly, ignoring the look. "Anything on Ougi?"

"Still alive, last I saw him. We met up with him and Diethard. They're on their way here."

"Ah." Kati sounded mildly surprised. "I thought he would've bought it. He seemed like the type."

"Nice. By the way Hamid, why are you here again?"

"Just thought you ought to know." Hamid smirked nastily. "Things are getting a little heated downstairs. A lot of guys hoping for a flight out of here, civilians too. I don't know how long they'll wait." A hiss of irritation escaped through Kati's gritted teeth.

"Who's in charge down there?!" she demanded. "Tell me it isn't Tamaki." Hamid's smirk widened, and the throbbing in Kati's temples intensified.

"Colonel ma'am!" Hikari Kanzaki came hurrying along the corridor from the direction of the tower.

"Report!"

"A message from Nakahara. Enemy knightmares have broken through, heading south."

"South?" Hamid rounded on her, eyes blazing. "You did say south, didn't you? From Nakahara?"

"Yes sir!" Kanzaki blurted out, trying hard not to be intimidated. Hamid swore viciously, and Kati didn't blame him.

"They're heading for Kawasaki," she said. "If they get down there in force…"

"Leave it to me!" Hamid snapped, storming off down the corridor.

* * *

_**Katsushima Ghetto**_

Tomoe Maehara hissed a curse.

They were coming. They were coming in numbers, and they were coming in force.

_Again._

It wasn't enough that she and her Skirted Devils had fought them off three times already, sending them scurrying back to their own lines while their wounded writhed and screamed in the dirt. It wasn't enough that they had held the line those past hours, their numbers dwindling with every wave that struck them.

No, they were up against Britannians. That meant they would come again, and again, and again, until one or the other was completely destroyed.

She gritted her teeth. Of the four hundred Skirted Devils she had brought to Zero's banner, just over sixty effectives remained. Of the remainder, around half she knew were dead, the others lying wounded in the makeshift hospital wards at the airport.

Sixty left. Sixty to hold their little portion of the line.

Tomoe could make them out, coming straight at them from the direction of Tachiagawa. Tiny grey figures scrambled over rubble, seeming to flit back and forth between gaps in the ruins. Along what remained of the road rumbled a single APC, its turret sweeping back and forth, ready to pour fire into whatsoever it might see.

"Takamichi, APC!" she barked. "Aoyama, free fire!" She heard the shouts of acknowledgement, and the clatter of footfalls as Miyako Takamichi and Naru Aoyama led their teams into position. Tomoe didn't know Miyako well, and liked her even less, but had seen what she could do with an RPG. As for Naru, her old friend's sharpshooters could do what was needed.

The enemy had reached the edge of the killing ground. It wasn't much of a killing ground, just an area of about fifty metres across in which the rubble didn't offer much cover, but it was enough to make the building a defensive strongpoint. That gave the Britannians all the more reason to want to force them out.

She heard the crack of gunfire as Naru's team opened up. A few of the Britannian infantry fell, but the rest kept going, some swarming out over the killzone while others provided covering fire as best they could. Tomoe noted with satisfaction that Naru was keeping her team's focus on the supporting troopers, leaving those in the open for the others. As the others opened up with their rifles, Tomoe saw the APC emerge from behind the wreckage, the turret swinging round.

"_Hurry Takamichi!_"

Like an answer to a prayer, Tomoe heard the bark and rush of an RPG firing. Her head snapped round, her eyes following the blaze of light as it shot towards the APC. The rocket hit, blowing the APC apart in a brief flash and a long, low roar that made Tomoe's ears ache. Out in the killzone, Britannian troopers continued their advance, some zig-zagging and crouching, others throwing themselves down and crawling. But against the sheer weight of fire the Skirted Devils were putting up, it did them little good. Within moments their advance had halted, the survivors lying or crouching behind what little cover was available, popping up from time to time for snap-shots. Tomoe felt her flagging confidence rise a little as the sharpshooters set about those unfortunate men.

It had been easy.

It had been _that _easy.

That easy?

Tomoe's habit of stalking up and down the line had taken her to the right of her unit. As she glanced down to the end, she saw two more sailor-suited corpses, two of the younger ones who'd joined back in Kanagawa. One of the bodies was being cradled by a still-living comrade, whose name Tomoe could not recall. The girl wailed and whimpered, ignoring the older Skirted Devil who snapped and barked at her to return to the line.

Tomoe felt a twinge of sorrow at the sight. They hadn't been like that before. They hadn't all been perfect little girls, but they hadn't been so heartless as that.

Her heart jumped as her gaze fell on the grey shape about twenty metres behind them.

"The right!" she shrieked, bringing up her own rifle. "On the right!"`

The older Skirted Devil froze for an instant, then threw herself on her grieving comrade, crimson spurts erupting from her back. Tomoe fired back, downing one of the Britannians and forcing the others to duck.

"Flamer!" she screamed. Even without the others, she dared not assume her hit was a kill. Britannian body armour was good stuff, capable of stopping a handgun bullet at point-blank range, at least on the plates, though the force would still knock a man off his feet.

"Hai!" Shinobu Maeda darted past, clutching her flamer in heavy leather gauntlets. The weapon was a kitbash, knocked up for her a month earlier by some hanger-on Tomoe hadn't known was her boyfriend. He had been killed a week later, and little Shinobu had treated the flamer like a holy relic ever since.

Tomoe tensed as Shinobu skidded to a halt, half-expecting the wretched machine to explode. She saw her teeth clench as the burning fluid leapt forth, gushing out over the rubble where the unfortunate Britannians were hiding. For a few moments, their screams drowned out the gunfire from further along the line.

And then it was over. Though gunfire rumbled in the distance, the attack had been halted.

Tomoe sighed, her body aching with exhaustion. She decided to check the ammunition situation, though it was highly unlikely to be good.

That is, until she was who had arrived behind them. Those Skirted Devils not concentrating on the killzone stared in mild astonishment as a group of about forty men in combat gear fell into line as if on parade. Their equipment was essentially stolen Britannian infantry gear, but painted green and enhanced along a samurai theme, with additional plates at the waist and shoulders, and leather neck guards added to the helmets.

Tomoe hissed in irritation. _Samurai Blood._

"Major Maehara!" Their leader, Colonel Ishimura, greeted her with a stiff salute. He was a tall, and dignified-looking man with a narrow, well-proportioned face and black hair greying at the temples. "Chief of Staff Tohdoh orders that you and yours fall back on the airport immediately. We will take your place here."

It was all Tomoe could do not to spit in his face. Neither she nor her followers had forgotten the way he and his had behaved at the meeting with Zero.

"Sorry _colonel,_" she replied harshly. "We're not stepping down. For one thing, the minute we do the _buriki_ will attack again. For another, we have our pride, you misogynist shitstain."

Several Skirted Devils grunted their agreement. They might be exhausted, short on supplies, and losing hope, but they weren't ready to back down, especially not so Samurai Blood could say they had taken their place.

"Major," Ishimura repeated, using the title Zero had given her. "I ask sincerely. Please withdraw." Then, to Tomoe's shock, he bowed at the waist.

"You have done more than enough, noble _onna-bushi,_" Ishimura went on. "Your legend must not die this day." Tomoe did her best to keep her face straight. If he thought she was going to break down in tears, he had another thing coming.

"If you go up there," she said, "you will die."

"That is our intention," Ishimura replied, straightening up. "That is the path we have chosen."

"_It is, isn't it,_" Tomoe thought, finally getting a look in his eyes. "_You want this. You want to die here._"

Pride and pragmatism warred within her. A part of her wanted to stand regardless, to die in that place rather than accept any favours from Ishimura. But another wasn't ready to die yet, especially not to get one over on a man like _him_.

And if she remained, the Skirted Devils would remain. If they remained, they would all die.

There was really no choice.

"Very well," she said in a low voice. "It'll be a couple of minutes before they come again." Ishimura snapped his heels together and saluted, then set about ordering his men into position.

"Skirted Devils!" Tomoe roared. "Fall back! Let's get outta here!"

* * *

_**Kawasaki Ghetto**_

"Here. This is close enough."

Alexander drew his _Gloucester _to a halt, Rai taking up position nearby. The two more Royal Guard _Gloucester_s positioned themselves around him, and the three _Sutherland_s carrying G-cannons, vital to the mission, spread themselves out through the nearby streets. It would be for them to shoot down any aircraft trying to take off in that approximate direction.

"Major Waldstein sir," came Sir Clyde Farrow's voice over the comm. "Everyone's in position. Shall the G-cannons fire at will?"

Alexander looked up at the night sky, searching for the shape of a plane taking off. Scores of them had taken off since he had spoken with General Darlton, each one making his fury boil a little hotter. How many hundreds, how many thousands of rebels were making their escape? How many of them would return to plague Britannia in the months or years to come?

"Sir," Rai interjected, sounding worried. "There may be civilians on those planes."

"They're Elevens," Farrow retorted coldly. "And if they were Britannians, the rebels would've said so. A human shield's no use if the enemy doesn't know about it."

Alexander forced down the niggling doubt, but it wouldn't go away. The stimm had restored some of his vitality, but he could still feel exhaustion clawing at the edges of his mind, eroding his resolve.

"G-cannons, stand by," he ordered, trying to buy himself a little time. "All units remain vigilant. The rebels may try to attack us here."

"Sir!" Farrow almost snapped. "This is no…!"

An angry beeping from the IFF cut him off. Alexander glanced down at the screen, and it took his weary eyes and addled mind a moment to register the hostile icon. His mind clearing, his head snapped up to the main screen. He slewed the _Gloucester _round, allowing its head to aim straight at the icon's location.

It was a knightmare, standing on top of what might once have been an apartment block, gazing down at them.

It was gold.

* * *

Hamid smirked in satisfaction as he counted off his targets.

"Four _Gloucesters_," he muttered aloud. "Six _Sutherlands_, defending three more with G-cannons, and one of them right below me."

He fired his _Gekka_'s single Slash Harken into the floor on which he stood, the anchor hitting at the jagged edge of where the floor had fallen in. Hamid pressed the pedals back hard, leaping up and over the edge, tracer fire flashing past. He felt his knightmare falling, the anchor cable spooling out as he dropped down through the ruined building. He had taken a risk he knew, standing on the roof like that. But he had needed the vantage point, and knowing their locations was probably worth it.

If he could just stay out of their grip long enough.

He looked straight down, counting the floors as he fell. The three _Sutherland_s were still there; two with rifles, one with a G-cannon. They didn't seem to have noticed his presence.

Hamid pressed down the rollerball, holding the anchor cable. His _Gekka _stopped falling, then jerked back upwards as the cable recoiled. His heart thundered as his eyes fell on the three knightmares, one of which was looking straight up at him.

He squeezed the trigger. The Gatling blaster whined as it revved, then roared as the bullets flew. One of the escort _Sutherland_s disintegrated, shredded by the deadly hail, followed swiftly by the second. The remaining _Sutherland_ swung its G-cannon up to return fire, but Hamid released the anchor, dropping his _Gekka _right down on top and smashing it to the ground. He swung his knightmare round, the anchor cable coiling and whipping round to catch in one of the floors above. Hamid jammed down the rollerball, the anchor cable retracting at maximum speed, heaving his _Gekka_ up and away.

"_One down. Two to go._"

Willing his heart to slow, Hamid walked his _Gekka_ across the floor, picking carefully through the wreckage and keeping a close eye on the gaps in the walls. If one of them was to see him, it could ruin everything. He positioned the _Gekka _at the edge of a hole, one large enough for his knightmare to leap through when the time came. He eased the head into the gap, relying on its camera for sight. If he used the scanner, he would be instantly detected.

"_Yes. There you are._"

He could just make them out, at the opposite end of a long, straight street. Two more escort _Sutherlands_, rifles at the ready, protecting a third with a G-cannon. He checked his ammunition readout. Not much left. He would have to improvise.

Hamid slammed down the pedals, driving the _Gekka_ through the hole and out into the open air. His console beeped a warning as the three _Sutherland_s scanned him, but he was unconcerned. He brought up the Gatling blaster once again, sending a stream of tracer into the street in front of him. He drew back the joystick as his knightmare fell, clouds of dust billowing up along the street. Bullets hissed through the air around him as the escort _Sutherland_s fired blindly into the miasma. Hamid smirked as his knightmare descended, dropping the landspinners into position the very instant before he landed. The landing had been perfectly aimed and timed, but the impact was enough to throw his lower body up from the control carriage upon which it lay. With the dust swirling around him, he thrust out one leg to slow down, sparks spitting from the ground as he skidded, then rounded a corner.

He slewed around the building, glancing back and forth for any sight of danger. As he approached the opposite corner, he keyed for the Radiant Wave Surger, and saw the bar fill on the screen as his _Gekka _funnelled energy from the battery into the weapon's capacitor. He could afford to use it only once in the clash to come, lest he drain the battery and be vulnerable later. But he would only need one.

Hamid rounded the corner, his mouth opening in a battlecry as he saw one of the escort _Sutherland_s in front of him. He screamed as he charged, pressing down the rollerball to power the Surger. The _Sutherland _looked up, its pilot freezing in horrified disbelief as a golden terror emerged from the settling dust, its gauntlet crackling with malign energies. Hamid roared as he slammed the Surger into the _Sutherland_'s chest. Even as the knightmare began to bubble and distort, Hamid pressed back the pedals, forcing the stricken _Sutherland _before him as he charged its fellow. The second escort tried to back away, but Hamid was too fast. He thrust the doomed _Sutherland _forward and released his grip, sending it crashing into its fellow. The knightmares exploded, but Hamid was already moving against the third _Sutherland_. The unfortunate knightmare backed away, raising its long-barrelled G-cannon as the gold _Gekka _came on. Hamid fired his Slash Harken, knocking the weapon away as he dived on the _Sutherland. _His gauntlet had expended its charge, but its blow still carried force enough to crush the _Sutherland_'s plastron. Hamid pressed on, screaming in fury and exultation as he forced the blue knightmare back against the wall of the ruined building behind it. The _Sutherland _hit the wall with a crash, bursting through it in a cloud of debris. Hamid dropped back as the wall came down, burying the stricken knightmare in rubble.

It would have to do.

A series of bright flashed from his left drew his attention. Hamid looked up, and his heart skipped a beat as he made out the two purple _Gloucester_s standing at the opposite end of the street, whence he had approached a few moments earlier. About them was a halo of lights as their shoulder-mounted _Saddlewaffen _rocket launchers unleashed their deadly cargo. Hamid hissed a curse as he slammed the pedals back, reversing away as fast as he could. He spun around and accelerated, feeling the impacts behind him.

* * *

_**Keihinjima**_

Kaguya Sumeragi stared out over the dark expanse, trying to believe that it wasn't so.

The MCV had come to a final halt just before the bridge between Keihin island and Haneda airport island. Fleeing fighters streamed past its mighty feet, some of them still carrying their weapons, others in headlong flight. There were civilians too, men, women, and children, carrying elderly or wounded relations on their backs, or small bundles of what little they still owned.

Perhaps they sought refuge behind the Japanese lines. Maybe they thought the situation could still be saved, or if not, that they might find a seat on one of the planes taking off every other minute.

Kaguya didn't know, and wasn't inclined to think about it. From her vantage point on the MCV's observation platform, all she saw was the plain of shattered ruins that had once been a great city, and the silver monolith of the settlement rising from the middle.

The sacred ground of the Imperial Palace was under there somewhere, crushed like so much else under Britannia's boot. Kaguya was certain that the Britannians had centred the settlement on that ground deliberately, to plant themselves firmly in the Japanese soul, a wound that would never heal while the settlement stood. The choice it offered was stark; be what we tell you to be, or live on in pain.

So close. They had come so close to succeeding.

"Lady Kaguya."

Kaguya barely noticed the familiar voice behind her. She continued to stare out over the city, hoping against hope that something would happen, that Zero's flight had been a mere illusion, and that one of his miracles would take place before her eyes.

"Please, Lady Kaguya," Jacque Sant-Clare pleaded. "We must go now! Everyone else is leaving!"

"Why, Jacque?" Kaguya asked, half-rhetorically. "Why? Why did he leave?"

"I don't know." He sounded almost as unhappy as she felt, and it touched her.

"I believed in him, Jacque-chan," she went on. "I really thought he could do it. I thought he cared about Japan."

"I…have no explanation, Lady Kaguya. But we must go."

Kaguya didn't want to look at him. A part of her knew what she would see, and feared to turn her eyes from what had once been Tokyo. It felt as if she were breaking faith with her homeland, and feared that if she left, she might never be able to return.

But the lure of his voice, and the pain and sympathy in it, was too much to resist. Kaguya turned to look into his sad eyes, and what remained of her resistance crumbled.

"Yes, you're right."

She took his hand, hitched up her long skirt with the other, and the pair hurried back into the MCV and down the stairs. As they reached one of the hatches, Jacque leapt down first and, in a gesture that seemed faintly ludicrous amid such devastation, handed her down. Kaguya felt her nerves calm somewhat at the sight of her bodyguards, waiting patiently by the hatch. The moment she was down, the small group strode along the blue-painted flank of the MCV, heading south in the direction of the airport, and safety.

Gunfire crackled nearby, and the rearmost of her bodyguards fell in a mist of blood. His two companions dived for cover, screaming at the others to go on. Kaguya felt her blood run cold as she and Jacque scrambled over the rubble. She could hear the hissing and whistling of the bullets, and her heart jumped as she felt a rush of air past her cheek. She glanced back and forth, eyes scouring for any hint, any sign, even as Jacque hustled her along.

All at once they reached the MCV's rearmost track. The bridge was just a few metres beyond, tantalizingly close. One of her surviving bodyguards, whose name she suddenly could not remember, dashed across the gap, dropping to a crouch as he reached the bridge parapet. He gestured for them to follow, and Kaguya, Jacque, and the last remaining bodyguard started across the open ground.

Kaguya's mouth opened in a cry of terror as she saw the grey shape emerge from the rubble only a few metres away to her left. Her bodyguards saw it too, and the one with her raised his rifle to fire. But the Britannian soldier was ready, his own rifle up and blazing. Kaguya felt something hit her in the chest, flinging her to the ground and pressing her down as bullets tore through the empty air where she had stood a moment before. Her heart thundered as she lay there, her heading swimming from the shock of the impact.

The gunfire stopped. As the haze faded, Kaguya realised she had to get up, to get moving. But the weight on her chest was still there. She looked down, wondering what it was.

It was Jacque, lying on her stomach, staring back at her. His face was pale, and Kaguya wondered if he'd gotten some dust on it.

Then she felt the wetness on her chest, as the white of her dress turned red around him.

"Kaguya…" His voice was hoarse, papery."_Tu es…mon rêve…_"

His head slumped, and he lay still.

For a few moments Kaguya did likewise, staring in disbelief at the boy who had just thrown himself on top of her. She looked down at her right hand, and felt ice in her stomach as she saw the blood dripping off it.

"Help!" she screamed, as understanding hit her. "Help! Somebody please help!"

* * *

_**Kawasaki Ghetto**_

Concealed under the road overpass, Hamid took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"_The Albatrosses should be taking off in about twenty minutes_," he thought, a strange and unsettling feeling gathering in his stomach. "_I have to get that last one, or none of us are getting out of here._"

It wasn't the worst situation he'd ever been in, but it was close enough. He doubted he'd be able to escape from Japan by any other way. For the first time in, well, a lot longer than he could remember, his fate was in the hands of others.

He didn't like it. Not one little bit.

Hamid suppressed a shiver of irritation as he eased his _Gekka _forward. He didn't like having to wait on the others. He missed operating on his own, with no one to consider, no one to protect. It had been so much easier back then, back when those who went with him were there to be sacrificed. One back to watch was enough.

He drew up, ever so gently, to peer around the support column behind which he'd been hiding. There they were, those two from before. Purple _Gloucester_s with cloaks, rifles at the ready. They had evidently dumped their empty _Saddlewaffen. _

Hamid could feel the adrenalin rising once again. He wanted to attack, to thin the enemy's numbers a little more. But if he did, then the lone remaining G-cannon _Sutherland _would never come out of hiding. He didn't have time to hunt the bastard down, not with three more _Gloucester_s still out there.

It had to be a trap. They were waiting for him to move, to dive in like some mindless predator who could only see the prey in front of him. They would let him strike, trusting in their devicers' skills to keep them alive, and then make their move.

"_You arrogant young pup,_" Hamid thought, face twisting in anger as he remembered the sight of the grey-white _Gloucester. _"_You think you've got me this time?_"

He just needed to wait. There would be a plane passing nearby any second, knowing how fast Kati would be throwing them out. Just a little longer, and the target would appear.

_There._

He could see it, emerging from a ruined building at the edge of the gap the two _Gloucesters_ were crossing. He could make out the _Sutherland_'s blocky shape, and the long barrel of the G-cannon, held muzzle-down.

Hamid glanced around his _Gekka_'s feet, looking for something that might do the job. Spotting a likely-sized rock, he focussed his HUD on it and keyed to pick it up. The _Gekka_'s programmers had been very thorough, and Jacque had filled in the gaps quite nicely.

With a tap of the right pedal, Hamid jinked his _Gekka _around the column. As the two _Gloucester_s registered his presence, Hamid squeezed the trigger, his _Gekka_'s right hand drawing back to hurl the rock. The rock struck one of the _Gloucester_s in the head, but Hamid was already charging at the other, gauntlet charging. He fired his Slash Harken, knocking the _Gloucester_'s rifle away, and slammed the Radiant Wave Surger into the purple knightmare's chest. Hamid pirouetted on the spot, releasing the stricken _Gloucester _as he passed its blinded comrade. He raced away, feeling the thump of the explosion against his back, his attention focussed on the G-cannon _Sutherland_, which was trying to make itself scarce. Hamid snarled as the two escort _Sutherland_s moved to block his path. His _Gekka _juddered and shook as their shots spanged off the golden armour. With a harsh yank on the joystick, he brought up the Gatling blaster, mowing the two _Sutherland_s down.

Suddenly Hamid was thrown forward, his head almost hitting the forward screen. Cursing viciously, Hamid gripped his knees about the control frame, turning his eyes to the rear-view screen. It was another purple _Gloucester_, firing grenade after grenade. In front of him, the G-cannon _Sutherland _was pulling away down a side street.

Hamid roared in frustration. He wanted to kill the little bastard who'd blindsided him, but if he did, that damned _Sutherland _would get away.

He chose the _Sutherland_, charging after the blue knightmare as it retreated down the street, jinking frantically to avoid its shots. The silver lining was that the _Sutherland_'s wild fire was deterring the purple _Gloucester _behind him from pursuit. Sensing victory, Hamid brought up the Gatling blaster. He had enough rounds left for one decent burst, but that was all he needed. It took only a moment to match the _Sutherland_'s evasions, and line up his shot.

Too late, he saw the flash of grey dropping to the ground to his right. The Slash Harken struck his Gatling blaster, throwing the burst wide. Hamid cried out in what might have been fear as the grey _Gloucester _charged, drawing an MVS from its back. He fell back, the glowing blade slicing through empty air. The _Gloucester _swung again, and again. Every muscle in his hands and wrists ached from over-use as he tried to dodge the grey knightmare's attacks. Still the enemy drove him back. Hamid knew he was out of options. He was about to be defeated.

He wasn't afraid to die. He had nothing to live for in any case. He'd only gotten involved because they were paying him, and because it was only in battle that he felt truly alive. By that logic, he had always accepted that he would likely die in battle. All that awaited him then was hell or oblivion. Either way, he wouldn't see Soran again.

But he wouldn't die. Waldstein, if that was who it was in that knightmare, was unlikely to honour him with a warrior's death. Images ran through his mind, of the flashing blade slicing away his beautiful _Gekka_'s arms and legs, of armoured hands tearing into his cockpit, reaching in to…

Hamid screamed, forcing down the pedals with all the force raw terror could give him. His _Gekka _leapt forward, barrelling into the unsuspecting _Gloucester_. The impact jolted Hamid to his senses, and he heeled the pedals back, breaking away as the _Gloucester _smashed into the wall behind it.

Only then, in a brief moment of clarity, did Hamid hear the warning buzzer. Glancing down at his diagnostic readout, he saw that the enemy's MVS had cleaved his _Gekka_'s right shoulder, leaving the arm with the Gatling blaster hanging uselessly at his side.

He glanced to his left, and saw the _Sutherland_, trying to aim its G-cannon. In reflex he spun the _Gekka _and charged, keying for the Slash Harken. The rocket anchor flew, catching the long-barrelled G-cannon and knocking it away with a clatter. The _Sutherland _tried to activate its Stun Tonfa, but Hamid was already upon it, driving his clawed gauntlet into the blue knightmare's plastron. One bladed finger tore through the neck, severing the power and data conduits in a shower of sparks. The cockpit burst free in a flash of white, soaring out and away over the ruins.

Three down.

Hamid thought of turning to face the other two, but first checked his energy level. Eleven per cent.

"_Sorry Waldstein." _His smirk returned. "_Gotta fly__. Maybe we can send each other to hell another time._"

* * *

_**Glacier Fortress Huashan, Sea of Japan**_

"Report!"

"Bay reports all submarines docked and secure," the deck officer replied curtly.

"Very good," replied Admiral Ding Yunsheng, seating himself in his chair. "Send my compliments to their officers and crews. They played their part to satisfaction."

"Yes admiral."

"_And now_," Yunsheng thought, concealing his irritation. "_Perhaps the Eunuchs will deign to let us attack_."

It was maddening. It was _infuriating_. Japan was in chaos, the Britannian forces besieged in their largest settlements, their airpower neutralized. The Britannian Pacific fleet was days away. The _Huashan _alone could devastate Japan, and even fight off the Britannian warships if he had the _Tiashan _or the bomber squadrons stationed in Joseon to back it up. Now surely was the time to strike, to overrun Japan and deprive Britannia of the precious sakuradite on which it relied.

So why were the Eunuchs hesitating? Had they already come to an arrangement with the Britannians?

"What's the status of the Krugisian battlegroup?" he asked, focussing his mind on the business of command.

"They passed Daito island an hour ago, admiral. No change in activity."

Yunsheng gazed up at the main screen, his eyes on the icon indicating the Krugisian flotilla. Their presence was not a serious threat in a military sense, but it was a definitely a political complication. The Kingdom of Krugis, or was it Area Seven, had gone to a great deal of trouble to furnish itself with an aircraft carrier and enough escort ships for a functional battlegroup. Yet the first thing they had done with all that military power was send it on a grand tour to Japan, as if to show the unfortunate Japanese what might have been theirs but for their old government's stubborn pride.

Yunsheng did not fear an old Britannian flat-top. He could sweep the _Anahita _and her escorts from the sea by himself. But the Eunuchs would never allow such a thing, not with Krugis sitting on the Federation's western border. Not, that is, unless Krugis did something _ill-advised._

He stared up at the screen, watching the icons representing Chinese fighters edging closer and closer to the icons representing the _Anahita_'s combat air patrol. He pictured the scene, the fighters cutting through the night sky like whistling blades, the cold requests and barked threats hurled back and forth over the airwaves, the fingers edging closer and closer to the triggers. He was more than a little glad it was happening so far south of him, in the _Tiashan_'s hunting zone. If anything went wrong, then Admiral Ho would have to take responsibility.

"Multiple aircraft approaching!" The sudden report drew him from his thoughts. "Altitude twelve kilometres! Five minutes to SAM range!"

"Vectors!" demanded the admiral, mildly shaken by this new development.

"Flight path suggests Russia, Admiral."

"Main screen!" A moment later the icons appeared. Yunsheng narrowed his eyes as he took it all in. Dozens of aircraft, with the profiles of civilian jetliners, heading along a course that ran from Tokyo and over Federal airspace. In so doing, they would pass within two hundred kilometres of the _Huanshan. _

Who were they?

"Contact the lead aircraft," he ordered calmly. "Order them to identify themselves and state their intent. Remind them that they are approaching Chinese airspace." The comm officer set about his task.

"Lead aircraft replying!" came the voice a few minutes later. "They're requesting weapons-hold status, and claiming to be carrying Japanese refugees. There's a code too."

Yunsheng stood up and strode over to the comm-officer's station, joined there a moment later by his second-in-command, Commodore Zhang. He glared down over the comm officer's shoulder, eyeing the code as it appeared on the screen. It took some effort to conceal his reaction.

"A Veiled Pavilion code?" Zhang asked in a low voice.

"Yes," came another voice, this one loud and clear. "It is."

Yunsheng straightened up, hiding his mingled irritation and surprise. He hadn't known that she was on the bridge. Her, or that glowering bodyguard at her shoulder.

"And what, Lady Wang," he asked, "does the Veiled Pavilion have to do with this?"

"More than you need to know, Admiral Ding," replied Wang Liu Mei, with a barely audible giggle that set his nerves on edge. "Suffice it to say, you will allow those planes to pass."

Yunsheng eyed her critically. He could acknowledge that she was beautiful, at least from an aesthetic perspective, with long black hair and a shapely figure that the figure-hugging magenta jacket and loose trousers did little to conceal. She knew she was beautiful, he could tell, and knew how to use it. There was a certain air about her, at first girlish and carefree to entice, then dismissive, scornful even. It was enough to make most young men blush with uncertainty, but it didn't work on Ding Yunsheng. Even if he didn't have a wife and two children, age had long since freed him of that which might have given her power over him.

Seeing her made him think of his eldest child, the daughter who had only just begun her studies at the naval academy. The thought reminded him of his confused feelings; fatherly pride in her achievements, and pleasure that she should seek to honour him by serving the state as he did, warring with an irrational and unanswerable sense of wrongness, and the sour knowledge of what she would have to deal with in the course of her career.

And yet there was Wang Liu Mei, younger than her, yet the head of an old and powerful family, and an agent of the Veiled Pavilion. It was whispered among the officers that she had attained great power within the organisation, and that she dreamed of making it hers entirely.

It was even muttered that the sour-faced young man who followed her everywhere was in fact her older brother, disinherited for some flaw or failure, condemned to live as a servant to his younger sister.

"Upon whose authority?" Yunsheng asked. If something was going on, he was determined not to get caught up in it. Liu Mei smiled indulgently, apparently realising that the eyes of all in the command centre were upon here.

"Upon my authority, as an agent of the Veiled Pavilion." She drew herself up. "I take personal responsibility, in her Majesty's name!"

* * *

_**Haneda airport**_

"What a mess."

For once, Kati was not inclined to disagree. As they stood in what had once been a ground-floor departure lounge, the dreadful business of the evacuation carried on around them. The bulk of the wounded had long-since departed, whether to safety or sudden death Kati could not say, leaving the last seats to still-healthy rebels and to the hundreds of civilians who had crowded onto the island, hopeful of deliverance. Kati could see them being herded across the tarmac to the last of the jetliners, standing just across from the terminal with engines idling, ready to go.

They had been the lucky ones, the last ones to make it in time. The Britannians had swept down upon the rebels with a fury Kati could barely conceive of, pounding and hammering at the rebel defences until something finally gave. There had been heroism and brutality enough for all the world on both sides, but the Britannian advantages in equipment, training, and organisation were telling. It would soon be over.

"Colonel?" Patrick Colasour asked, rather sheepishly. Kati glanced at him, saw the bandage around his head, and the look in his eyes.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Did we screw up? Or was it someone else?" Kati sighed at the question, allowing some of the overwhelming fatigue eating at the edges of her mind to leak out.

"It wasn't us, Lieutenant," she replied, imbuing her voice with as much conviction as she could manage. "Everyone in Task Force Bolivar gave their all in this mission. I have no complaints."

That was an understatement. They had all given far more than she had thought them capable of. One of them more than any other.

"So, what happened Colonel?" Patrick sounded as tired as she felt. "Last I heard was Zero bugged out."

"I don't know any details," Kati answered levelly. "But that's pretty much what happened." She half-expected an outburst, but Patrick seemed to take the answer with equanimity.

"It wouldn't have happened," he said, with some of his old sparkle in his eyes, "if you'd been in charge, colonel."

"It's irrelevant." And it was, though a part of her knew she could have done better. "Either way, this mission's a bust."

"I know, colonel ma'am." Patrick sagged noticeably. "It's just too bad, about Jacque I mean."

"Don't talk as if he's dead," Kati retorted sternly. "You know better, lieutenant."

"I know colonel. It's just…" Patrick trailed off. Kati didn't really know Jacque, but she knew only too well how it felt to lose a team-mate. And despite his youth, and the unusual way he had entered their lives, that was what he was.

"What're we gonna say, colonel?" Patrick asked, despondently. "What'll we say to the First Consul?"

"Maurice Sant-Clare isn't like that. That I can say for sure."

Well, she was _fairly _sure. First Consul Sant-Clare was one of the three consuls who acted as the EU's executive branch, and the only one she had any time for. Despite every kind of obstruction and quibbling the other two consuls and the Council of Forty could come up with, Sant-Clare had managed to hold things together. On the single occasion where she'd actually met him in person, he'd struck her as an honourable and understanding individual.

But would he stay that way when he found out what had happened to his son? The son he had allowed to go to war? Honour and integrity were fine things, but they could not easily stand against humanity's deeper instincts.

"Ah! Colonel Mannequin! Lieutenant Colasour!" Both looked up to see Rakshata Chaula striding towards them, followed by her assistants. "Please tell me you're getting out of here soon."

"We're getting out of here soon," Kati replied, deadpan. "Chief of Staff Tohdoh and his squad are loaded on the first transport. Paladin Dylandy, Paladin Halevy, and Second Technician Tsuji are getting our knightmares loaded onto the other. We'll leave as soon as we're done here."

"That's good to hear." Rakshata managed a weary smile. "That bang you heard a few minutes ago was our brave fighters blowing the last bridge to the mainland. We're safe for the moment but the Britannians are bringing up knightmares. You know what that means." Kati nodded grimly.

"Anyway, my ride's here." A jeep pulled up outside, and Rakshata's assistants started carrying their equipment and luggage towards it. Kati remembered that the _Shuura _was waiting for them out in the bay.

"Farewell then, Colonel Mannequin." Rakshata proffered her hand, and Kati shook it briskly. "May we meet again, under better circumstances." With that, she strode off towards the jeep.

"So, uh, when are we leaving?" Patrick asked. "It should be loaded by now."

"Ours will be the last to go," Kati replied sternly. "We'll give him as long as we can."

"Him?!" Patrick exclaimed, incredulous. "Whadda we have to stick our necks out for him for? Can't we just leave the jerk behind?"

"It's not because I like him, or what he does," Kati retorted. "We can't risk the Britannians taking him alive. There's no one the OSI can't break, Lieutenant, and he knows far too much. Besides, that knightmare could be very valuable."

"I guess" Patrick admitted, reluctantly. "But is he even alive?"

"I have no idea."

* * *

An abattoir.

Kaguya had never actually been inside one, but it was the best description she could think of. The former departure lounge, currently a field hospital, stank of a mixture of blood, surgical alcohol, and one or two other bodily substances. Those of the wounded with half a chance of survival were already airborne, on their way to whatever fate had in store. Those remaining were the ones judged too badly hurt to risk moving, or too far gone to be worth the effort. Kaguya could hear the cracks of handguns as they were sent on their way, the morphine having run out hours ago.

The object of her attention was the pale body on the stretcher in front of her. Jacque's tunic was open, exposing his bloodied torso, marked with two black holes that gushed blood. One of the holes was covered with a compress, which she herself had been tersely ordered to hold down tight. The medic, a girl a few years older than herself, was poking in the other with what might have been a surgical probe, apparently looking for lodged bullets. She wore what might once have been a white lab coat over the white and blue costume of the Skirted Devils. Neither inspired confidence.

A part of her rebelled against the situation. It wanted to cry out in protest, to demand to know why Jacque was being treated by such an obvious amateur in such a filthy place. Was there not somewhere better, somewhere cleaner at least, that her money could buy?

And then there was the other part, the one that wanted nothing more than a large meal, a hot bath, and a warm bed in which to sleep for at least two days.

For the moment she could do nothing but stay by his side, holding his cold, pale hand, while the girl opposite either mended or mutilated him.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" she asked, testily.

"Yes," replied the medic, without looking up. She pushed a little harder with the probe, eliciting a moan from the unconscious Jacque.

"You're hurting him!" Kaguya snapped, suddenly angry. "What're your qualifications?!"

"High school first aid, and four years in the Skirted Devils. Suture!" The medic withdrew the probe, handing it to an assistant, also in the Skirted Devils colours, who looked younger than Kaguya. The girl scrabbled in the equipment case next to her, bringing out what looked suspiciously like a staple gun.

"You mean you've no training?!" Kaguya spluttered, unable to stop herself despite the absurdity of her words. "You're not a real doctor?!"

"Oh no." The girl finally paused, her voice taking on a harsh, sarcastic edge. "I found the time to get a doctorate from Tokyo U. _Of course I'm not a damn doctor_!"

Kaguya was too shocked to reply. She regretted her words upon seeing the exhaustion and stress in the older girl's eyes, but the medic's harsh reply had made her angry. She didn't like being spoken to in that manner, not when some she cared for was dying in front of her.

"Look around you!" the medic went on. "Do you see any real doctors here? I might not have a license but I'm all you've got!" She was about to say more, but Kaguya grabbed her hand and pressed it hard against her blood-stained dress.

"This...is _his _blood," she hissed, fury and pride boiling within her. "He saved my _life_! If he dies…_you die_! Understand?!" The medic matched her gaze, with a look Kaguya could not quite identify.

"Then let go of my hand," she replied, very calmly. "Or shoot me here and now." Mastering herself, Kaguya let go of the medic's wrist. The girl snorted, took the device from her assistant, and started suturing Jacque's wounds shut. Neither spoke until she had finished the task, and the medic wiped at Jacque's gore-splattered chest with a rag, wiping away the blood to see if any more was coming. There was none.

"Thank you," Kaguya whispered.

"Don't thank me yet," the girl replied. "All I did was stop him losing more blood. He could be bleeding out in there and we wouldn't know till he kicked the bucket." She glanced at Kaguya, and saw the look on her face.

"Then again, he should have bought it by now, so it can't be too bad. Either way, "

"I'm…sorry." Kaguya's voice was hoarse and barely audible. "I shouldn't have…"

"I've had worse believe me." The girl paused, as if collecting her thoughts. "The big problem right now is that he's lost a lot of blood. With more blood he's got a fighting chance, but…"

"Take mine!"

The two Skirted Devils looked up in surprise. Kaguya's eyes were hard, her delicate jaw set.

"It's not that simple," said the medic. "What type are you?"

"Type O! Please use it!"

"Okay fine then." The medic straightened up. "Help me get him to the transport!"

* * *

_**Ota Ghetto**_

Alexander squeezed the triggers, cursing as the shots flew wide.

The gold _Gekka _was no easier to catch then that it had ever been. In spite of the cracked streets and piled rubble, the damned knightmare seemed to move as easily as if it were on a high-speed raceway. Every time he began to think it was over, the _Gekka _managed to slip through his fingers.

Then again, _he _was piloting it.

Alexander gritted his teeth as he concentrated, firing and retracting his Slash Harkens to sling his _Gloucester _between the buildings either side of the street. It wasn't exactly standard practice, but there was no other way.

"Sir Alexander!" Rai pleaded over the comm. "Sir Alexander, let him go! Please!"

"No Rai!" Alexander snapped back, his jaw aching from having clenched his teeth so hard. "I can't let him get away! I_ can't_!"

If Al-Saachez got away, it would all have been for nothing. Euphie's death, Princess Cornelia's suffering, the sacrifices General Darlton would have to make in order to save him from being scapegoated, his own lapse in judgement in letting Zero escape.

Zero…who was Lelouch…

Alexander's heart thundered as he looked up ahead. There was a bridge, or what remained of one, with a cluster of infantry icons around the near end. That meant only one thing.

The street leading up the bridge was for the most part clear. The _Gekka _retracted its anchor and landed, landspinners sparking and smoking. Alexander did likewise, dropping the landspinners with near-perfect timing. He slammed down the pedals, accelerating after the gold _Gekka _as it raced for the blown bridge.

"Move!" Alexander roared over the loudspeakers. "Clear the way!" The infantry were already scattering as the _Gekka _drew near. Alexander fired, not caring how close some of the shots came to the fleeing troopers. He saw some of them hit, but to little apparent effect. The _Gekka_ accelerated, aiming itself for the gap. The distance fell away, and Alexander saw the gold knightmare leap the gap. He braced himself, counting down the metres as the distance closed. This was going to take careful timing…

He jammed the pedals straight down. The _Gloucester _leapt, cloak billowing as it sailed through the air. The river passed below him in a brief flash of blue, and Alexander felt the _Gloucester _begin to fall. He felt the jolt as the knightmare landed, the inertia slamming him back against his seat as momentum drove him forward. Buzzers sounded and red lights flashed, warning him of serious servomotor damage in the legs, but Alexander paid them no heed. He could not stop, not now.

* * *

Leesa Kujo glanced out of the hatch once again, hoping that she would finally see them. No such luck.

She had spent the last ten minutes pacing up and down the companionway, impatient to be going. The Britannian _Albatross_ transport, found several hours earlier in the airport's military hangar, was fully loaded and ready to take off. The remaining knightmares of Task Force Bolivar had been safely stowed in the cargo section, though this had required some improvisation by Saji and the ground crew. Kati's command staff and the remaining Skirted Devils were also on board, while the remaining Black Knights, along with a wounded but stable Ougi Kaname, were on board the other _Albatross_ with Chief of Staff Tohdoh.

Though it was a tight fit, she had allowed the ground crew on board also. As Honorary Britannians who had betrayed their allegiance, they faced a terrible fate if taken alive.

Which was becoming ever more likely the longer Kati kept waiting.

Leesa headed back down the companionway, deciding to check on the others just for something to do. She glanced from side to side as she headed through the passenger section, taking in the Skirted Devils in their unusual uniforms, and the former JLF personnel in green. Some were talking quietly, others were already asleep, having evidently decided that they were about as safe as they were likely to be. Some stared straight ahead, clutching their weapons. One or two were weeping. At the very back Leesa encountered her fellow Bolivar members. Saji and Louise were sitting together, hands intertwined, heads on each other's shoulders. Neil was sitting next to them, seemingly lost in thought. He looked up at her as she past, their eyes meeting for a second. He looked as if he was about to say something, then lowered his head.

She continued on to the rear of the passenger section, to the medical area. There was Jacque, strapped to a bed fixed to the wall, his face still pale. Kaguya was strapped in next to him, her right arm and shoulder bared. Leesa could see the tube running from her forearm to the small pump, and then to Jacque's left arm. Her eyes were on him constantly, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He was alive, for the moment.

Allowing herself to smile, Leesa turned away and headed back up towards the cockpit. She paused a moment by the hatch and looked out.

As if in answer to her prayer, Kati Mannequin and Patrick Colasour were hurrying up the steps.

"Are we ready to go?" Kati asked, returning her old friend's salute as she stepped inside.

"Yes Colonel. All set."

"Then let's be off. Britannian knightmares have crossed the river." While Patrick headed for the passenger section, the two colonels strode up to the cockpit.

The _Albatross_ was as much a combat aircraft as a transport. One of its main roles was to fly into contested or outright hostile airspace, where death might come from any direction at any time. In addition to its armour and ECM package, the _Albatross_ came with seven automated 20mm quad guns; one on the nose, three along each flank. Not only did this offer effective defence against missiles, but even allowed the _Albatross_ to provide close air support at a pinch.

The upshot was that whereas most transports could get away with the traditional pilot and co-pilot, with maybe one person to keep an eye on the cargo, an _Albatross_ needed a secondary crew of six. Of those, all they currently had was one man to operate the comm, another JLF survivor whose name Leesa couldn't remember, leaving her and Kati with plenty of space.

"Morisato!" Kati called to the two pilots up at the front. "We're all set to go!" Morisato, if that was his name, gestured acknowledgement. Leesa sat down at one of the empty stations and keyed for external camera. On the screen she saw the boarding stairs come to a halt a few metres outside the _Albatross_' wingtip. The driver got out, and sprinted towards the open rear hatch. Leesa switched the camera to the cargo section, and saw two men haul the driver safely inside. As the hatch began to rise, she felt the floor shift under her feet as the transport began to taxi.

"Colonel!" the comm operator spoke up, pressing a finger to his earpiece. "It's Satan's Sultan." He glanced up at the two colonels, his face expressionless. Kati nodded, and he pressed a button.

"I took out the threat but there's a bunch of them on my tail!" came the familiar voice, with a distinct air of desperation. "What's your stat?!"  
"We're just leaving now," Kati replied coldly. "Can you make it?"

"Don't stop whatever you do!" Hamid snapped back. "Just keep the rear hatch down! I'm coming in hot!"

"Are you insane?!" Kati demanded, after an astonished pause.

"Probably!" Hamid retorted, his desperation replaced by sardonic amusement. "I guess it's a question of what my life's worth to you!"

Kati did not reply straight away, and Leesa wondered if she was really considering it. Though she could not bring herself to condemn Hamid outright, she had never much liked him either. They could just leave him, and EUROSEC wouldn't ask too many questions. Considering his MO, there would be a certain poetic justice in it.

If they were fine with being no better than him, that is.

"Understood," Kati said. "Hatch will be down. For your own sake, don't screw this up."

"If I do," Hamid replied snidely, "it won't be anybody's problem." He disconnected.

"Leesa," Kati said, turning her attention to her. "Whose knightmare is nearest the hatch?"

"Neil's," Leesa replied, standing up. "I'll tell him."

* * *

Alexander stared in momentary disbelief as he passed the terminal building, ignoring the cacophony of the warning alarms.

He could see the stolen _Albatross, _the last remaining aircraft, taxiing towards the runway. It evidently intended to take off, but its rear hatch was still down.

That meant only one thing.

He spurred his suffering _Gloucester _on, chasing the _Gekka _as it raced towards the transport. He glanced down at the readout for his Machine Pistols. Only a few bullets remained. He looked up again, as the plane began to turn onto the runway. Alexander slewed the _Gloucester _sideways, keeping his knightmare in the transport's blind spot. Those quad-guns could shred him if they got a clear shot.

With all that remained of his concentration, he held the pedals steady. He drew the Machine Pistols together, aiming them at the _Gekka_'s narrow waist. One burst each was all that he could afford.

He fired, and his heart leapt to see the _Gekka _lurch sideways, a tail of black smoke billowing from a gash in its side. He forced the _Gloucester on_, lining up his guns to shoot into the accelerating transport's open hatch. With any luck he would hit something, and turn the transport and its rebel cargo into a fireball. Then he could finish the gold _Gekka _at his leisure, and tear the villain who piloted it from its cockpit. What a prize that would be.

For a fraction of an instant, he registered the _Gekka_ inside the transport staring back at him. For the briefest moment, he realised his mistake.

The impulse to evade was crackling down his spinal column towards his feet, but it was already too late. Alexander saw the muzzle flash, and an instant later felt the impact as the heavy-calibre round tore into the _Gloucester_'s waist. The knightmare's legs gave way, sending the torso crashing to the ground. It skidded along the runway, the force of his throwing Alexander around the inside of the cockpit, straining his body against the restraints.

And then it was still. The smashed console sparked and crackled, the few operational screens all showing red. The sting of the sparks, and the sudden burning heat as flames began to lick up from the console, brought a stunned Alexander to his senses.

He fumbled for the hatch release, and all but fell from the burning cockpit. He hit the runway hard, ignoring the pain as he scrambled to his feet. He half-ran, half-staggered away from the wreck of his beloved _Gloucester_, his eyes fixed on the transport as it began its ascent, the gold _Gekka _hanging on by a single Slash Harken.

Alexander _screamed, _ripping the handgun from its holster on his leg. He screamed as he fired, willing each bullet to chase down the gold _Gekka _and plunge into the heart of its pilot. He fired, emptying the weapon into the air as the _Gekka _disappeared inside the transport. The plane continued to ascend, growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared into the glow of the rising sun.

And then there was only pain, as his adrenalin-addled mind registered the pulled muscles and the burns. And then the pain was gone, as his body decided that it had endured enough abuse for one day.

All that remained was utter, utter despair.

He had failed.

Alexander did not hear the knightmares pulling up behind him. He did not register the sound of Rai's voice, crying out to him over the loudspeaker.

He fell to his knees. His eyes turned up to the sky, and his vision seemed to fade as images rose from his mind. He was at Aries Villa again, running through the garden. Nunnally was up ahead, shrieking and giggling as she outpaced him. Euphie was to his left, all smiles as she drew level. In the distance just beyond them was Marianne, regal and graceful, standing with Cornelia, smiling indulgently as they watched their game.

His mother, his sisters, his beloved Princess. His family.

And to his right...

Anger rose within him, dispelling the vision as flooded his limbs with what little life remained in him. Alexander clenched his fists, tears of despair stinging his burnt face, as if to remind him with every passing second of what had been, and what could never be again. He threw back his head and _screamed._

"LELOUCH!"

And all was darkness.

* * *

_**Kaminejima**_

There it was.

The colonnaded chamber was dark, save for the stone frieze set in the wall ahead. It was much as he remembered, the carved lines and shapes bathed in fresh sunlight from the hole in ceiling he and the others had accidently created the last time they were there.

Nunnally was beyond it. She had passed through it by means beyond his understanding, or anyone else's for that matter.

Zero reached a gloved hand towards the frieze, wondering if his mere touch would activate the strange relic.

The crack of the handgun made him jump, the bullet burrowing into the frieze next to his hand. A part of him already knew who it was.

"Turn and face me, slowly," said Suzaku Kururugi, his voice tundra-cold. Zero did not respond, that same part of him dreading what he would see.

"Didn't you hear me, Zero?!" Suzaku barked. "Turn around!" For a long time there was silence, and then Zero mastered himself enough to turn around, his cape billowing.

"I didn't kill her," he said, trying and failing to keep the sorrow from his voice. "You _know _I didn't."

"A convenient power, your geass." Zero felt his blood run cold. Suzaku advanced towards him, handgun held level and steady. "You get to hide in the shadows while others do the dirty work, and take all the blame. You're an arrogant coward after all."

At any other time, and in any other place, Zero might have been angry. He might have shouted back, reminding Suzaku of his own cowardice, his own hypocrisy. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"Kallen," Suzaku said. The word was followed by a gasp, and Zero's heart flew to his mouth as he finally noticed Kallen, standing in the cavern mouth behind Suzaku, her gun aimed at his back. The look of horror and bewilderment on her face made Zero feel sick.

"You want to know, don't you?" Suzaku asked rhetorically. "You want to know who Zero really is? Well, now you can bear witness."

The gun fired, the bullet ricocheting off Zero's mask. He felt a pain in his brow as the mask cracked like an egg, splitting down the middle and falling to the floor with a clatter. He felt blood running down his face.

Kallen cried out in shock and denial. The sound tore at Lelouch's heart, for he knew that in that moment he had lost her. She would never trust him again, not after such a betrayal.

"But…you can't be…" Kallen staggered back, almost falling down.

"I didn't want it…to be you," Suzaku said. He looked as if the life had finally drained out of him.

"Yes, I'm Zero." Lelouch felt his face twist into a smile. "I'm the one who leads the Black Knights, who challenges the Holy Britannian Empire, who holds the entire world in his hands."

"You…you used us," the red-haired girl said, her voice trembling. "The Japanese people…you used us all…"

"Yes, I did," Lelouch admitted mildly. The words came out far more easily than he had expected. "And in return, Japan will be free. You can't exactly complain."

But she would, he knew. He knew about her brother, and how Ougi had said that he, Zero, would fulfil her brother's dreams. He knew what he had taken from her in that very moment. Kallen slumped to her knees, her blue eyes gushing tears, and a part of him wanted to die there and then. He had never meant to hurt her. He had never wanted to cause her such pain.

And yet he had. Just as he had with Shirley, and Alexander.

"You lied to us all," Suzaku growled. "To me, to Euphie, to Sir Alexander, even Nunnally."

"Yes, and now Nunnally has been kidnapped." It was a desperate ploy, Lelouch knew, but he was running out of options. He felt a twinge of hope as the anger fell from Suzaku's face, replaced with shock. Even Kallen looked up.

"Suzaku, let's make a truce for now," he pleaded. "I need your help to save Nunnally. There's nothing you and I can't do together!"

For a moment, just a moment, it seemed as if Suzaku would accept.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Suzaku snarled, his gentle face twisting into a mask of rage. "If you'd joined forces with Euphie, if you'd had the _grace _to accept her sincerity, then none of this need have happened! The world could have been a better place, but _you _couldn't accept it!"

"It's too late for that!" Lelouch snapped back. Suzaku's rejection had silenced his sorrow, replacing it with fury. "It's in the past!" It was the worst thing he could have said, but he was too angry to choose his words carefully.

"You killed your own father, didn't you?" he went on, unable to stop himself. "Wallow in remorse when you have time for it!"

"No! You're beyond evil!" Suzaku bellowed, shuddering with rage. "You're beyond redemption! To punish your betrayers you'll betray all humanity, be they guilty or innocent!"

"There are no innocents!" Lelouch snapped back. With one swift hand he pulled _it _from the back of his belt. Before Suzaku could react he had pressed it onto his chest. The device adhered itself to his purple suit, the liquid sakuradite glowing pink in the semi-darkness. Suzaku gasped at the sight of it.

"This is liquid sakuradite," he hissed. "Shoot me if you dare! The moment my heart stops beating, this device will blow us all to perdition!"

"Damn you!"

"Suzaku," Lelouch went on, desperate. "I'll do you a deal! Who told you about my geass?! Was it them who…?!"

"Silence!" Suzaku roared. "Your own words condemn you! No innocents?!" He spat in disgust. "If Sir Alexander could see you, he'd be ashamed to have ever known you!"

The words were like a spear of ice though Lelouch's heart.

"No…" he whispered, his voice abandoning him. "_No! He understands me! He said so himself!_"

"I know all about Narita!" Suzaku went on. "I know what you did to him! You stole his honour, just like you stole mine!"

"Shut up…"

"He would never have betrayed you! He would never have told anyone! But you repaid his devotion with treachery! Some friend you are!

"Shut up!"

"_It wasn't like that! I did it to protect him!_"

"Your existence is a mistake!" Suzaku shrieked, bringing up the gun again. "You betray those who love you! You destroy those who would save you! I'll save Nunnally, and when I do, I'll tell her all about this! I'll show her and Sir Alexander who you really are! Then they'll curse your name as I do!"

"NO!" Lelouch roared, raising his own gun to aim straight at his tormentor. "You won't take them from me! SUZAKU!"

"LELOUCH!"

They fired.

* * *

**Well, that took some doing.**

**This is the end of this segment of 'One and Only Son,' essentially equivalent to R1. R2 will be coming in time, but I need to arrange a couple of things with Zaru, most importantly whether to continue in this story or start another for R2. I want to watch at least one episode of the new 'Akito the Exiled' gaiden before continuing, so I can include elements from it, but I don't think I'll need to watch the whole thing, so you won't have to wait forever.**

**To make up for the wait, I'll leave you with a preview of things to come.**

**Alexander is in despair over the events of the Black Rebellion, but his chance to redeem himself arrives as Britannia prepares for all-out war against the EU. Alexander receives his first independent command and a new knightmare, on that will herald the changing of the world. While he fights in Russia, Suzaku will join the assault against Spain, and the infamous Santiago line that defends it. What he sees and does there will lead him down a dark path from which there may be no escape. **

**In time, then. My thanks to Zaru for beta-reading this. **


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

_**Pendragon, Holy Empire of Britannia, December 2017**_

"All rise!"

Alexander Waldstein rose to his feet, snapping to attention as the tribunal filed into the chamber. He willed his heart to slow, but there was no remedy for the sick, cold feeling in his stomach. His fate had been decided in the small room beyond, and nothing and no one could change it now.

The three officers took their seats; high-backed chairs behind a long table covered by a Britannian flag. A sword lay across it, a reminder that this was a _military _court martial, not some civilian farce with smart-talking lawyers and cheap theatrics. Everything that had happened had taken place in accordance with the rules. All clean and tidy, all very military.

"Major Alexander Waldstein, formerly of her Imperial Highness Princess Cornelia's Regiment of Knightmare Guards," proclaimed the presiding officer, a balding army General by the name of Reynolds. "The tribunal has conferred and reached a decision, regarding all of the charges laid against you." He paused, and ran his eyes over the wad of papers in front of him. Alexander felt as if time was slowing down around him.

"The first charge, that you wilfully and knowingly abandoned your post in pursuit of a personal cause, thus contributing to the endangerment of the life of her Imperial Highness Princess Cornelia."

It was all Alexander could do not to shudder. That _personal cause _had been the safety of Shirley Fenette, or so the prosecutor had seemed convinced. How many hours of questioning had he endured on that point? How many times had he been forced to stand there, face straight, while that wretched JAG officer had impugned her honour by insisting that she was his lover and that he'd abandoned Princess Cornelia in order to protect her?

The things he had said. The things he had _implied_...

"While your leaving your post in order to attack the Black Knights command post at Ashford Academy was irregular," General Reynolds went on. "The need to recover the Z-01 _Lancelot_ provides a military justification. A written affadavit from her Imperial Highness Princess Carline, to the effect that she gave you a direct order to go, has also been taken into account. While this tribunal finds that your actions constituted an error of judgement, it was neither criminal nor in any significant way contributory to the disappearance of Princess Cornelia. As such, this tribunal finds you not guilty of the charge."

Alexander felt a sliver of hope. The day Nena Carmine had brought her mistress' letter, and had given testimony in his defence, had been the best of the whole sordid period. He only wished she hadn't kept making eyes at him the whole time.

"The second charge, that you wilfully and knowingly failed to secure the terrorist known as Zero when you had the opportunity to do so, thus allowing him to escape and lead the so-called 'Black Rebellion'."

The big one. It was all Alexander could do to keep that tiny flicker of hope alive, though a part of him knew it was a delusion. There was only one possible explanation for not securing Zero, one possible defence, and even that wasn't a good one. But it was something he could never reveal to them. He could never tell them of the face he had found under Zero's mask, the face that had haunted him ever since.

He hadn't even told his father.

"This tribunal has had…_concerns _regarding your conduct in this matter." Reynolds was looking straight at him, his eyes old and hard. "The only justification you could offer for your failure to secure Zero was the need to protect her Imperial Highness Princess Euphemia, and you couldn't even manage to do that. Worse, you refused to reveal the identity of Zero, even though he was able to warn you of the impending assassination. You could offer no reason why you should have any other reason to believe him."

Reynolds paused, and Alexander could almost feel the axe upon his neck.

"However we have received…_information _regarding the identity of Zero, and why you have seen fit to remain silent. Under the circumstances, your actions were both understandable and justified. Upon that basis, this tribunal has found you not guilty. As such the tribunal discharges you, and reminds you that all matters related to Zero are secret and not to be revealed to unauthorized persons under any circumstances."

"All rise!"

* * *

_**Somewhere in the EU**_

"_Here we are again,_" Hamid thought sourly, as the lift plate bore him up into the audience chamber. It was only the second time, but the theatrics were already starting to get on his nerves.

As before, the chamber was pitch black. A light came on, revealing Mr Hernandez at his desk, staring back at him over interlaced fingers.

"Well then, Mr Al-Saachez," he said. "What have you to say for yourself?"

"What would you have me say?" Hamid growled back. "We did our part. It was Zero who screwed up."

"That was our general impression," said the German director, his station lighting up as he spoke. "But we would appreciate your input."

"I already submitted my report."

"Yes," answered the Russian director. "Now tell us what you _didn't _put in it."

"I see." Hamid almost smirked. "Well, there's not a whole lot to say." He glanced around the chamber, at the dark, silent stations, wondering for a moment at the faces behind them.

"We carried out our orders," he said. "We made contact with the Black Knights, and assisted them as best we could. We even made it out with a bunch of their knightmares." _Then _he smirked. "I imagine EUROFORCE is have a pleasant time analysing their technology."

"You imagine correctly," replied the Polish director. "They have provided valuable insights, allowing us to speed up completion and deployment of our newest knightmares."

"But," the German director spoke up again, "as valuable as this technology is, it does not justify the considerable amount of money spent on your expedition. The council is putting pressure on First Consul Sant-Clare. There is a chance they will invoke the disclosure statute."

"And that's my fault _how _exactly?" Hamid was on the verge of losing his temper. If they wanted him dead he probably wouldn't walk out of that chamber, but he was damned if he was going to beg. "I kept up my end! The money was well-spent! We did the best we could under the circumstances!"

"Calm yourself Hamid," the British director said. "It is not _your _competence we are calling into question."

"You said Zero was the one to blame," interjected the Italian director. "Explain."

"He launched the rebellion before we were ready!" Hamid snarled. "He said the opportunity was too good to pass up! And then, just when everything about to work out, he ran away and let it all fall apart! No one else could hold them together!"

There was silence.

"Do you have any notion," the German director asked, "as to _why _he left the battle?"

"No!" Hamid snapped. "I don't!"

Silence.

"That will be all," Hernandez said. Hamid felt the lift plate lower him down to the corridor below. There, right where he had been standing a few minutes earlier, was Andrei Velichko.

"If you're going to kill me," Hamid quipped sourly, "then do it now and get it over with."

"No," Andrei replied. "I'm going to give you your orders."

* * *

_**St Darwin Boulevard, Pendragon**_

It was a beautiful day.

The air was cold, but bracingly so. The snow had stopped a few hours ago, leaving the landscape covered in a blanket of purest white. The gentle hill upon which he was walking provided a fine view.

Swathed as he was in a heavy cloak, Alexander did not feel the cold except on his face. It was the right combination of sensations to make for a pleasant stroll on a winter's day. He knew he should be happy, that he should be enjoying the beauty of the vista, and the coming of Christmas.

Except he wasn't. The landscape was beautiful, but its beauty stirred him only to melancholy. The thought of Christmas brought him no comfort either, despite all his happy memories of it. Because those he had shared those happy Christmases with were all lost to him, one way or another.

"You are unhappy, Alexander."

Alexander glanced at the man walking alongside him, stirred from his thoughts.

"Forgive me father," he replied, a little too slow. "I was…distracted."

"I might not have been present at your birth, Alexander," Bismarck Waldstein went on. "But I did raise you for two years of your childhood, though Marianne insisted on depriving me of the rest. It was a brief time, but long enough for me to learn your moods. You, my son, are extremely unhappy."

Alexander hung his head. It shamed him that he could not rid himself of those feelings; feelings that served no purpose. What right did he have to be sad, when so many lives had been ruined and lost? What right did he have to regret anything, when he bore such a burden of blame?

"What happened to Princess Euphemia was tragic," his father went on. "I don't blame you for being sad about it. But she would not have wanted you to suffer like this."

"It's not that, father." Alexander cleared his throat. "I have…accepted her death. But I can't but feel…that I allowed her to die." Bismarck sighed.

"I fear I have instilled this flaw in you," he said. "For as long as you have been my son, you have striven to grow beyond yourself, to win every battle, to accept nothing less than perfection. Such can lead a man to greatness, but also to ruin if he loses perspective."

"She was the little sister I never had," Alexander said mournfully. "How can I not have done more? How can I have done anything less?"

"My son, you have become too accustomed to greatness, at too young an age. You have gotten it into your head that you can achieve anything, and that nothing is beyond your power. It is that conceit that torments you when you fail, because you believe you had the power to do better, even though you were doing your utmost."  
"Father…"

"The greatest warrior cannot see beyond the range of his eyes, or touch what is beyond the reach of his arms. Even at the controls of a knightmare frame, the sphere in which your power resides is limited. Princess Euphemia's fate was decided by actions taking place well outside of that sphere, beyond your knowledge or your reach."

"Princess Euphemia's fate was decided by _one _man!" Alexander snarled, anger rising to replace his melancholy. "It was Luciano Bradley who destroyed her, father! Surely you must know this!"

"Yes," Bismarck replied, his face expressionless. "I am aware of that."

"But…" Alexander was momentarily dumbstruck. "But then…why haven't you…?!"

"Why haven't I what, Alexander?" Bismarck asked rhetorically. "Why haven't I killed him? If I taught you anything, you would know the answer already."

"But he _killed _her!" Alexander protested, horrified. "You _know _that she did! You're…!"

"The Knight of One? The Emperor's blade? Do you suppose this means I can simply kill my brother knight?"

Alexander stared at his father in disbelief. His head fell, his shoulders hunching, as it sunk in that his father would not kill Bradley, even though he knew he was responsible for Euphemia's death.

His own father, the Knight of One.

"Then…I will do it!" he snarled, raising his head. "If you will not bring him to justice, then _I _will!"

"Oh you will, will you?" his father snarked, his sarcasm catching him off-guard. "You'll challenge and kill Luciano Bradley? The Knight of Ten? The Vampire of Britannia? Foolish boy!"

Alexander almost backed away, such was the force of the rebuke.

"You don't understand what you seek to fight!" Bismarck snarled, regaining some of his composure. "Luciano Bradley is a monster! I know that as well as anyone! But he is still a Knight of the Round Table, a hand of the Emperor, a symbol of his authority and power! If you kill him, even in a legal duel, you will be spitting upon that authority! My fellow knights and I would be oath-bound to hunt you to the ends of the Earth or die trying!"

He paused, his one good eye blazing.

"Must I kill you, my son? Must I destroy you, for trying to avenge a woman you dearly loved? Do you _really _think you can fight us all? Even your old friend Kururugi?"

"Suzaku?" Alexander was incredulous.

"I suppose you wouldn't have heard." Bismarck stalked away from him, looking out over the land. "Suzaku Kururugi has been admitted to the Round Table, as the Knight of Seven."

"But…" Alexander tried to gather his thoughts. "But he's…"

"Yes, he's a Number, but against the will of the Emperor such distinctions are meaningless. If Prince Schneizel can have Lord Abdullah admitted, do you think it unreasonable that his Majesty can admit an Eleven?"

"No father." Alexander sighed. "I was merely…surprised."

"So was I. But as it happens there was a reason. Lord Kururugi asked for the honour as a reward for bringing in your old friend Prince Lelouch. I get the impression he's after my position."

"Prince Lelouch?" Alexander breathed. "He's alive?"

"Oh yes." To Alexander's surprise, Bismarck actually smirked. "Lord Kururugi managed to subdue him on Kamine island, and bring him in alive."

"But what was he doing there?" Alexander asked. "I heard that he left the battle, but I could not understand why."

"Because we had managed to secure Princess Nunnally," Bismarck replied. "Yes, I know that you knew about her, and you did the right thing in keeping quiet. It would seem that his devotion to her outweighed his interest in the rebel cause."

"What is to become of him?"

"Oh, nothing much," Bismarck quipped. "The Emperor has rewritten his memories, and he has been sent back to Area 11 with an OSI handler, just to make sure."

Alexander was unable to respond. The words did not seem to register quite right.

"Yes, Alexander." Bismarck turned away from him, and reached up to his sealed eye. "His Majesty possesses such a thing as a Geass. As does Prince Lelouch…" he turned to face Alexander, "and myself."

It was all Alexander could do to stop his mouth from dropping open. His father's newly-exposed eye was obscured by a shimmering crimson sigil, in the shape of a bird on the wing.

"Fear not," Bismarck said. "This Geass is not of the same type as Prince Lelouch's. It has no effect on you, or anyone else for that matter."

"Then…what does it do?" Alexander could not stop himself from asking.

"It allows me, in short, to see the future," Bismarck replied. "It predicts movements and actions around me, a few seconds into the future. It is useful to me only in battle."

"You…sewed your eye shut," Alexander said, still trying to make sense of it. "Can you not…control it?"

"No, I can't. I can't switch it off any more than Mao or Prince Lelouch could. I…over-used it in my youth, in battles I could have won without it. After that, only one was ever strong enough to force me to use it."

"And his Majesty?"

"His Majesty has the power to re-write memories. He has done so with Prince Lelouch, in order to seal his Geass and ensure that he does not attempt another rebellion."

"I…I see."

Alexander's mind was a maelstrom. A few moments ago he had been angry, outraged even. He was almost glad of his fury, for it had lifted him from his despair and sadness. But now he was confused, bewildered by this new knowledge. Questions that had haunted him for months were finally being answered, and he didn't know what to think or feel.

"I don't think I need to tell you," Bismarck went on, "that this is a matter of the utmost secrecy. Not that it matters, as I doubt anyone would believe a word of it."

"I…wouldn't believe it myself, father, but for what I had seen and heard."

"Yes." Bismarck's expression was grim. "Your encounter with Mao was…unfortunate." He put a fatherly hand on his shoulder, a gesture Alexander could scarcely remember having received before.

"Fear not. The matter of your…_origin _remains a secret. It appears Prince Lelouch kept it to himself in spite of everything. The only other person who might reveal it is our ultimate adversary."

"The woman CC?" Alexander was surprised.

"Yes." Bismarck half-turned, and began walking onward. Alexander matched his pace, wanting to hear more.

"It would take too long to explain who and what she is," Bismarck went on. "Suffice to say that while she runs free she is nothing but trouble. She is a bringer of chaos, a changer of the ways. She is what the credulous might call a witch."

"Why, father? What motivates her?"

"Nothing, my son. Nothing but the fulfilment of the contract she makes with those she empowers. It is they who wreak havoc with the powers she grants, bending history in ways they rarely if ever have time to comprehend. For what it's worth, I sincerely doubt she will tell anyone your secret. She has no reason to."

They walked in silence for a while. The wind picked up a little, moaning in the distance.

"You have gained quite the reputation," Bismarck said suddenly. "There is talk of raising you to the Round Table."

"I would have thought," Alexander replied, without looking at him, "that my court-martial would have made that impossible."

"Not so. You were acquitted. Your honour is intact. And even if it wasn't, it has no bearing on his Majesty's wishes."

"Why do you speak of this, father?" Alexander asked bitterly. "I have no means of earning such an honour." He looked down at the snow before his feet. "Princess Cornelia's guards have been disbanded. I cannot lead troops into battle, or even fight for myself."

"I speak of it," Bismarck said, "because if you were to rise to the Round Table, then and only then would you be in a position to do something about Lord Bradley. I also speak of it because I am about to give you the means."

"Father?" Alexander stopped, hope and disbelief warring within him. Bismarck stopped a couple of paces ahead, his eyes staring straight on.

"In the new year, there will be a war," he said, in the same tone as he would speak of a sporting fixture, or a court event. "Conflict with the EU is now inevitable, whether certain among them realise it or not. I have already been commanded to oversee the planning of operations."

To his mild surprise, Alexander felt nothing at the revelation. He half-remembered what Sir Alexei Smirnov had said, of how he had been convinced that the EU was interfering in Area 11. His father was probably right about war being inevitable, considering the harm Zero had wrought. Hundreds of thousands of Britannians had been killed; men, women, and children; and many had suffered fates far worse. Those left alive and unspoiled had seen their homes destroyed, their workplaces wrecked, their lives torn asunder by people they feared and hated.

Alexander realised in that moment why the court-martial had let him off so easily. Even if they _had _found him guilty, and hung him out for millions of grieving, frightened Britannians to vent their rage and pain upon, it would not have been enough.

Someone had to pay.

The Elevens had paid, but no more. Their extermination might have appeased the mob, but the expense of reconstruction would have been ruinous without their slave labour.

So the EU would pay instead.

"When that time comes, Alexander." Bismarck turned to face him, a slight smile on his face. "You will go into battle as commander of a Special Dragoon Squadron."

Alexander gaped. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. His own command? A Special Dragoon Squadron? After everything that had happened?

"Surprised, my son?" Bismarck smirked, and slapped him rather hard on the shoulder. "Don't be. It was easier than you could imagine. You will of course be promoted to colonel. Think of it as a Christmas gift, and restitution for all the Christmases I've missed."

Alexander still couldn't speak. The Special Dragoon Squadrons were the most prestigious units in the Royal Panzer Infantry, more so even than the Aerial Drop units. They were given near-complete autonomy, and sent on the most important, most pivotal, and most dangerous missions. The chances of survival were all too often slim, but they were the command every ambitious RPI officer dreamed of.

And he was being handed that dream on a silver platter.

"Father I…I'm not worthy."

"Not true, Alexander. You've more than proven yourself, and in any case you won't be the only one, not after all the losses we've suffered. Your subordinates will likely think you're a pampered milksop, but that's their prerogative as soldiers. You'll just have to show them that you're fit to lead, and I know for a fact that you can do it."

"Father…" Alexander cleared his throat, willing his racing mind to calm. "Thank you."

"Speaking of Christmas gifts, I'll be busy with the war planning and the Round Table's rituals, so I won't be home for Christmas."

"Yes father."

That was nothing new. In fact, they had _never _spent Christmas together, at least not as far as Alexander could remember. It wasn't something he had considered strange until he had spent his first Christmas at Aries Villa. Only then had he realised what his father had sacrificed for the sake of the Empire.

"So then," Bismarck went on, as they continued on their walk once again. "What do you plan to do about it?"

"Father?"

"If you intend to return to San Clemente and spend Christmas in an empty house, I won't stop you. But that's not something a young man about to go into battle should be doing. I would've thought you'd have someone else to spend it with."

Alexander's heart sank. For so many years there had been a place he'd been welcome, a hearth around which to celebrate, that he'd never needed to think about it. But those places were closed to him now, those welcoming faces forever gone.

There was General Darlton, but he would be spending the holiday with his innumerable adopted children. There was even Graham Aker, who would like as not be spending it with his comrades, few of whom had any family to go home to. Rai had been recalled by Lady Enneagram, and he had not heard from the younger boy since.

Alexander did not want to intrude upon their merrymaking. They each had their own worlds, their own private spheres, places in which he might or might not be welcome. He couldn't bear the thought of endangering the few bonds he had left by invading those spaces at such a time.

But then where would he go? By whose fireside would he be welcome? And even if he had San Clemente to retreat to, who would care to share its fireside with him?

"No one," he said. "There's no one at all."

"Really?" His father actually sounded surprised. "No friends? No lover? Are you _really _my son?"

"There's no one, father." To his surprise, and shame, Alexander felt tears prick at his eyes. He looked away, fearing that his father would see. "I…was not made for thus."

He felt a warm hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Then we're the same, you and I," his father said, his voice deep and almost hoarse. "I never had time for friends, when I was your age. I never had time for lovers, or for a wife. But for you, I am all alone in this world."

"Father…"

"I received a letter from Reuben Ashford," Bismarck went on, his voice lighter. "He wrote to express his gratitude for your part in saving his students. His granddaughter included an invitation to their Christmas party."

Alexander was taken aback. From what he had known of Milly Ashford it did not surprise him that she would throw a party, even under such circumstances as that. But would he be welcome at such an event?

"Please go, my son." Bismarck squeezed his shoulder again. "Don't make the mistake I did. If you are fated to die, don't let it be with a lonely heart."

The wind moaned in the distance, and snow began to fall.

* * *

_**Ashford Academy, Tokyo Settlement, Area 11**_

Milly Ashford was in her element.

Some might have questioned the wisdom of throwing a party at such a time. It might have been Christmas Eve, but Tokyo Settlement was still for the most part a ruin. The work of rebuilding had been going on in earnest for just over a fortnight, but restoring the settlement to its former glory would take months, even with the combination of Britannia's vast resources and local labour that was so cheap as to be practically expendable. It had taken this long just to clear the rubble from the collapsed section, and to restore enough of the plateau to reconnect Ashford Academy to the rest of the settlement.

Tokyo Settlement was rising again, but the same could not be said for its peoples' hearts. Since the rebellion had collapsed the settlers had huddled inside their city, glaring out at the ghettoes with fear and suspicion. Only weeks ago the inhabitants of those godforsaken quarters had stormed the settlement, pouring into the streets like Vandals through the gates of Rome. The memory of that night would not soon fade.

As far as Milly was concerned, it was all the more reason to throw a party. For those still residing at the academy, for whatever reason, it was the perfect distraction from the hardship and uncertainty of the times. It was also an opportunity for Britannians and Honourary Britannians to pretend that the whole sordid mess hadn't happened. It might, just might, help start the healing process.

Milly had a smile on her face as she moved from place to place, and the smile was genuine. The academy had cleaned up beautifully, though admittedly the damage had been slight compared to some places. Decorations and lights hung along the walls and corridors, arranged in complex and tasteful patterns. She sometimes marvelled at the creative energy bound upon in Ashford Academy's student body, and would grab at any opportunity to let it loose. Outside the windows, the gardens were already covered in a dusting of snow.

As ironic as it was, it could not be more perfect.

She had spent the past hour moving around the student council building, making sure that no one was being neglected. Everyone _seemed _to be enjoying themselves enormously.

Except one.

Milly hadn't been entirely surprised to see Rolo alone in the corridor, gazing out of the window. He had always been the quiet, wallflower type, ever since he had arrived with his brother a few years earlier. Milly sighed. Though she adored both the Lamperouge brothers, the younger was as much a handful as the elder, in his own unique way.

"Rolo!" she proclaimed, moving easily down the corridor to meet him. "Lelouch hasn't abandoned you, has he?"

"Oh, no, Miss Milly!" Rolo stammered, startled. "I was just waiting for someone."

"Somone?" Milly queried, intrigued. "Is it a young lady?"

"Oh no!" Rolo protested, his cherubic face reddening so adorably that she wanted to hug him to death. "It's just that…you said Lord Waldstein was coming, so…"

"And you just couldn't contain yourself!" Milly completed his sentence, giggling. "I never knew you were such a fan!"

"It's not…well…" Rolo trailed off, and for a moment he looked as if he was trying to reorganise his thoughts. "Lelouch thought I should keep an eye out, for the surprise you've got planned."

"Ah Lelouch," Milly quipped. "Always thinking too much. You don't need to hang around here by yourself because of him Rolo."

"No it's okay!" Rolo insisted, brightening. "I've always wanted to meet Lord Waldstein, even if it's like this."

Milly sighed, smiling indulgently as she looked Rolo over. He was shorter than his brother, with a round face, soft brown hair, and bright purple eyes. That was enough to make him cute, but his shyness made him positively adorable, especially in that fancy evening suit Lelouch had gotten him to wear.

She barely stifled a giggle as she remembered the last Crossdressing Festival. He and Lelouch had been _beautiful _sisters that day, though Milly sometimes wondered why Roloko's wig had to be _that _long. The effect had been…curiously appropriate, almost familiar.

"Ah!" Rolo cried out, his face lighting up. "I think that's his car now!"

Milly glanced out of the window. Sure enough, a very large black car was pulling up outside.

"I think you might be right!" she exclaimed, excited. "Be a dear and keep him entertained for few moments won't you Rolo?"

* * *

Alexander had to admit that he was impressed.

The Student Council building was much as he remembered it, as were most the grounds he had passed through. The Ashfords had done a fine job of repairing the damage wrought by the battle, and likely at no small expense.

"Lord Waldstein" Alexander looked to see a well-dressed young boy approach him at a dignified stride. There was a slight smile on his face as he came to a halt, holding himself at attention.

"Yes."

"Rolo Lamperouge my lord, at your service." Rolo bowed low. "Miss Ashford asked me to welcome you on her behalf."

"Thank you." Alexander allowed a maid to take his cloak. "I take it I am expected?"

"Of course." Rolo's eyes sparkled. "Would you mind stepping this way?" Alexander fell in beside the boy as they strolled up the main stairs. Rolo seemed to be in no hurry, and Alexander suspected that he had been tasked with keeping him occupied. He was content to play along, if it would put his hosts at their ease. He couldn't bear the thought of ruining their merrymaking with his presence.

"There's so much snow these days," he said. It was time to see if this was who he thought it was.

"It blows in on the northern wind," Rolo replied. He glanced up at Alexander, his eyes suddenly serious.

"Is it safe to talk?" Alexander asked, trying not to be unsettled by those eyes.

"It's fine." Rolo smiled, but his smile seemed forced, false. "No one can hear us out here." Alexander could hear the low murmur of conversation, overlaid with festive music. Rolo was probably right.

"I was told your people were keeping an eye on Lelouch," he said in a low voice. "I trust all is well."

"It's fine," Rolo replied. "He's settled in with no problems. There's no sign that he remembers."

"Good." Alexander paused. "I…need you to keep an eye on him. He's a…very important person."

"I will." Rolo gave him a strange, almost questioning look. "After all, I'm the only brother he has."

"Yes." Alexander, to his surprise, felt a twinge of sorrow at Rolo's words. "You are."

They rounded a corner, and the sound of music and conversation grew louder. Alexander almost paused as he saw another young man, slightly older than Rolo, mooching around the opposite end of the corridor. As the youth turned to face him, his face brightening, Alexander recognized him.

"Ah! Lord Waldstein! You made it!" Rivalz Cardemonde strode along the corridor in what he must have thought was an aristocratic manner, but in reality just made him look like his legs were out of joint. He wore a tuxedo, but whereas Rolo's was tasteful, his just looked flamboyant.

"Mister Rivalz Cardemonde?" Alexander asked, forcing himself to smile through his nervousness.

"Right first time!" Rivalz drawled, pumping his hand and smiling too much. "Oh, and you wore your uniform too! That's perfect!"

Alexander blinked in surprise. He hadn't been entirely sure about wearing his uniform, with its gold-frogged maroon coat and white trousers, and the sash Cornelia had given him. His regiment had been disbanded, but he still strictly-speaking retained the right to wear it. All the same he had felt uncertain, unworthy, and more than a little fearful that someone would call him out on it.

But Milly had requested it in her invitation, so etiquette demanded that he wear it. Besides, he didn't know how to wear anything else.

"I confess myself confused, Mister Rivalz," Alexander said. "Why _did _Miss Ashford make such a request?"

"The thing is," Rivalz replied, suddenly a little awkward. "This party isn't just for Christmas. It's so that we can thank you for saving us during the battle."

Alexander opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. It took him a moment to regain his composure.

"The ones you should thank are Earl Asplund and Lord Kururugi," he said. "They did far more for this place than I did, and so did Major Aker and his squad."

"Well, we were gonna invite Suzaku too, but we can't contact him, or Major Aker." Rivalz massaged the back of his neck. "And believe me, Earl Asplund is the _last _person Milly wants round here."

"But aren't they fiancées?"

"Exactly!"

"Well…I…" Alexander felt his cheeks reddening. "I have no words."

"Don't worry about it!" Rivalz grinned. "I'll announce you. Just wait here until the music starts, then come down the stairs and Milly will be waiting."

"I…see." Alexander sighed. Milly had roped him into one of her stunts, and there was nothing to do put play his part graciously. "Very well."

"Great!" Rivalz almost danced away into the chamber beyond.

"Lord Waldstein!" Rolo looked mortified. "Please understand! My brother had nothing to do with this! It's all Madam President's fault!"

"It's all right," Alexander said, as soothingly as he could manage. "I'm accustomed to this kind of thing." Both looked up at a sudden rumble of drumbeats.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of Ashford Academy!" It was Rivalz. "We are proud to present, a sensational…inspirational…!"

"Get on with it you twit!"

"Okay okay! Don't throw that! I'll do it!" A pause. Alexander steeled himself.

"Presenting Sir Alexander Waldstein!"

The music rose like a wave. As Alexander forced himself to step through the doorway, the sound became a stately rendition of Handel's _See, the conquering hero comes. _His heart skipped a beat as he reached the balcony parapet, and saw the faces gazing up at him from the floor below. They were smiling, eyes bright with joy, applause thundering from their clapping hands.

Gulping down his nerves, Alexander started down the nearest set of stairs, trying to keep his eyes on the guests while not focussing on any one in particular. He wondered how his Princess had been able to do it so effortlessly.

He saw Milly, surrounded by a cluster of students, gazing up at him with a look of complete satisfaction. As he neared the foot of the stairs, Milly detached herself from the throng and swept forward to greet him. She wore a Santa-babe outfit on what appeared to be red velvet, with white fur trimming and a matching hat. The dress was rather short, and Alexander had to force himself to meet her gaze lest his eyes be drawn elsewhere.

"Sir Alexander." Milly smiled wolfishly as she held out her hand. "Welcome to our humble gathering."

"I am honoured, Miss Ashford." Alexander took her hand and brushed his lips over her fingers. "I did not expect so kind an invitation. I am touched to the heart."

"Oh you flatterer!" Milly exclaimed, giggling. "Oh, but since you've met Rivalz already, you simply must meet the rest of our student council. Lelouch!"

"I come, Madam President!"

Alexander's heart skipped a beat as Lelouch emerged from among the students. He was clad in an evening suit identical to the one Rolo was wearing, and his handsome face wore a fulsome smile.

"May I offer my welcome also, my Lord?" Lelouch bowed low. "We are all of use grateful beyond words." He straightened up, and Alexander had to force his slight smile to stay in place. Those were Lelouch's eyes, but that wasn't Lelouch's soul behind them. There was none of the feeling he had seen there, none of the affection, or the sincerity, or the pain. The eyes before him were cold, insincere, dismissive even, accessories to a false smile.

"_No,_" he thought. "_You're not my prince. What happened to my prince?_"

Alexander had been prepared for this. His father had told him of Lelouch's rewritten memories, and he had guessed that they would contain nothing of their shared past. He had come to terms with what had been lost, though it pained him terribly.

This was something more, something worse. It was as if some vital part of Lelouch, something noble and sincere, had been silenced forever. All that was left was this…doppleganger, smiling an empty smile at him.

"Is something wrong?" the false Lelouch asked, with empty and insincere concern. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"Forgive me." Alexander bowed slightly. "You…reminded me of someone I used to know."

"I presume you mean Prince Lelouch?" The fake Lelouch drew himself up. "I fear I was born in the same year as his highness. Our parents were rather conceited about the fact, hence my name."

Alexander felt his heart begin to break. He had known this was the case, but to hear the proof from his own mouth was almost too much to bear. Lady Marianne, Princess Nunnally, Princess Euphemia, even himself, all forgotten.

"You're the conceited one, Lelouch," Milly interjected waspishly, eliciting a flutter of laughter from the students. "We still have one more council member to introduce." She looked around in feigned bewilderment. "Where _is _that silly girl?"

"Come on Shirley!" called one of the students in the cluster behind Lelouch.

"N, n, no!" stammered a familiar voice. "No I can't!"

"Now _Shirley_!" Milly ordered with false harshness. "Come out here and let Sir Alexander see you!"

"No! You can't…!" The students parted, and Shirley Fenette tottered forward on high-heeled boots identical to those Milly was wearing. There was much merriment among the students at her predicament. Her outfit was similar to Milly's, though pink rather than red. She was obviously embarrassed at having to wear it, her cheeks red and her eyes bright.

The anguish Alexander had felt over Lelouch faded, replaced by something warm and gentle. It surrounded his heart, easing the sorrow that had built up there over so many weeks. It was sympathy, a yearning to embrace her, to comfort her and protect her from this embarrassment. But there was a wondrous peace, a contentment like nothing he had felt since those terrible days.

"Miss Fenette…"

"Sir Alexander…"

* * *

_**Imperial Command Bunker, Pendragon**_

The strategic hologram shone bright in the darkness, casting multi-coloured shadows on the faces of those gathered around it. The hologram displayed the entire northern hemisphere, centred on the Eurasian continent, with the east and west coasts of the north American continent, the Britannian homeland, at either end.

The faces looked up as the strategium's armoured doors slid open.

"Forgive me, noble knights, for keeping you waiting," said Schneizel el Britannia as he strode into the chamber. His personal attendant, Kanon Maldini, was at his shoulder.

"Be at peace, Chancellor," Bismarck Waldstein replied. "Your presence is an honour and help to us this night." He bowed his head as Schneizel stepped up to the hologram table, his fellow Knights of the Round Table doing likewise.

"Thank you for your kind words, Lord Bismarck." Schneizel regarded the assembled knights with a gracious smile. "And thank you all for your being here. This is not a good place to spend Christmastide."

"We know our duty, Chancellor," Bismarck replied. "And your highness is as put out as we are. We have no cause for resentment."

"If his highness has those he would spend it with," spoke up the blond-haired youth in the green cloak, "then he is doubly put out."

"Mind your words, Lord Weinberg," Bismarck warned sternly. Gino Weinberg was one of the newest members of the Round Table, having been invested only five months earlier. He knew that Gino was estranged from his family, who had not shown themselves at court since his investiture, but that was no excuse for disrespect.

"The Knight of Three jests with kindness I am sure," Schneizel said graciously. Gino bowed, much lower than he had before, reminding Bismarck that he wasn't quite as airheaded as he appeared.

"In any case, noble knights," Schneizel went on. "The political situation cares not for the saviour's birth, if Lord Abdullah will indulge me." If Cyrus Abdullah was offended, he showed no sign of it. "Relations with the EU are rapidly deteriorating. I have attempted to turn us from the precipice, but my pleas have thus far fallen on deaf ears, both in Paris _and _in Pendragon. There will almost certainly be war, at some time in the new year."

"Chancellor." The first to speak was Dorothea Ernst, the Knight of Four. Her green eyes, sharply contrasting with her dark skin, were bright and hard. "What news is there on the state of their armaments?"

From anyone but a Round, the question might have seemed impertinent. The Knights of the Round Table were the Emperor's personal agents; living symbols of his authority and power. The OSI were his shields in the darkness, and the Imperial Guard were his fists mailed in steel, but the Rounds were his bright swords in the sunlight; all of these things and more. It was their right, over all others, to speak openly and to offer advice.

"Our information is sadly limited," Schneizel replied. "EUROSEC is doing a fine job of silencing or misdirecting even my sources. We know that they have brought out a number of new war machines over the past two years, and in considerable numbers. However we have only sketchy information on their capabilities, and our attempts to capture examples for study have been largely unsuccessful."

"What about their knightmares?" asked Luciano Bradley. "They've produced nothing better than those clunky _Panzer-Hummel_s for years."

"They definitely have new designs in development," Schneizel said. "Also, _Panzer-Hummel_s have been appearing in their allies' arsenals in greater numbers over the past year, including very recent models."

"If they're clearing out the junk," Luciano quipped, smirking, "then they've got new stuff coming soon."

"Chancellor, I recommend in that case that we launch the attack sooner rather than later," Bismarck spoke up. "Their strength grows with every passing day. If we attack later than January, they may be too strong."

"Chancellor, may I speak?"

The voice was young and ardent, but also unexpected. The knights all looked to see Lord Suzaku Kururugi, the newly-invested Knight of Seven, gazing at Schneizel with bright, desperate eyes. He had hardly uttered a word since he had entered their fellowship, so his outburst was a considerable surprise.

"Lord Kururugi." Schneizel's tone was warm, as were his eyes. "As a Knight of the Round Table, you do not need to ask my permission."

"Your highness, is it really necessary to use violence?" There was sorrow in Suzaku's eyes, but also sincerity. "Can the EU not be persuaded?"

"Persuaded?" Luciano sneered. "_Persuaded _to throw down their weapons and roll over? _Persuaded _to become our lackeys? Somehow, I think not."

Bismarck could feel the tension in the chamber spike suddenly. Kururugi's entry into the order was the will of the Emperor, and as such it was not for him or any other Round to question it. But as it had been with Cyrus Abdullah, himself invested on the _suggestion _of Prince Schneizel, Kururugi's presence was not _entirely _welcome. Luciano had been the most openly hostile, and though Gino and Nonette Enneagram seemed more accepting, Bismarck could not help but think that the others would take the infamous 'vampire's side, at least for the moment.

"Chancellor," Suzaku pressed, paying little attention to Luciano. "I can't believe that they _want _to fight." Schneizel sighed a world-weary sigh.

"Lord Kururugi, I understand your feelings." His tone was kind, almost fatherly. "But this isn't a problem that words can solve. The hatred and fear that runs between our two peoples runs far too deep for that."

"I…understand, your highness." Suzaku's face was level, but Bismarck could see his inner turmoil in his eyes.

"If it comforts you any, Lord Kururugi," Schneizel went on. "There is another, much better reason to fight." He paused, and turned his head to address all the assembled knights.

"You know that I have always worked to prevent an alliance between the European Ultra-Union and the Chinese Federation. With a view to that, I have been conducting secret negotiations with the Grand Eunuchs for the past year; negotiations which are about to bear fruit." He paused. Bismarck knew what he was about to say, and suspected that he was enjoying himself.

"Next year," the Chancellor went on, "we will see an end, at last, to the threat posed by a Sino-European alliance. For next year we will see the union of our empire with the Chinese Federation."

He fell silent, letting the bombshell do its work. Even Luciano looked surprised.

"I'm afraid I cannot reveal any details for the moment," Schneizel said, forestalling their questions. "The particulars are still being worked out, and in any case our failure to defeat the EU will render the plan moot."

"May I ask why, Chancellor?" Suzaku asked, surprised and intrigued.

"Because the Eunuch fear that siding with us at this stage would lead to an EU invasion of their territory." Schneizel gestured to Kanon, who stepped forward and slotted a datastick into the terminal in front of him. He tapped a few keys, and the hologram shifted, refocusing on the western territory of the Chinese Federation. The Chinese territories were marked in red, those of Krugis in purple, and those of the EU in green.

"An EU counter-attack would most likely pass through here." Schneizel gestured a substantial segment directly to China's north-west and west. On cue, long green arrows materialized and snaked across from the north and the west.

"These are among the most neglected of the Federation's territories," Schneizel went on. "And also the most restive. The Eunuchs fear that the peoples of these territories will side with the EU in the event of an invasion, and that this in turn will spark off further unrest elsewhere." His eyes twinkled. "Of course, whether or not it'll happen is entirely irrelevant."

"So," Nonette Enneagram mused, smirking. "The price of the Chinese Federation is crushing the EU. Fair enough I suppose."

"Chancellor, this will be difficult." Bismarck stepped to his own terminal and started tapping keys. The map zoomed out to its previous state.

"The obvious route into the EU territory is via Kamchatka, and they won't make it easy. The area contains substantial forces, based around the Russian Pacific fleet base at Magadan." The map zoomed in on the Sea of Okhotsk, focusing on Magadan and the surrounding area. "The defences around Magadan are substantial, both on the landward and seaward sides. I recommend an attack on multiple fronts overland, along with an assault from the sea. Taking will be costly, but necessary if we are to establish control in eastern Siberia."

"Of course," Schneizel agreed, nodding.

"The European front will be considerably more difficult," Bismarck went on, shifting the map as he spoke. "The EU's Atlantic coast defences are extensive, more so than anything we've previously encountered. The British isles are practically fortresses, and the coast of Norway is less than ideal for large-scale landings, especially at this time at year. Further south," he gestured at France, Spain, and Portugal, "offer more possibilities, but the defences are all the stronger. I recommend that the thrust of our attack be upon Iceland. Not only is it within easy reach, and would provide us with a useable base in the area, but it's one of the EU's primary Sakuradite sources."

"Always a consideration," Schneizel said with a smile.

"But if we are to divide the EU's forces sufficiently, we must launch at least one more front, and that is where our difficulty lies." Bismarck shifted the map to the Middle East and north Africa. "Our forces in north Africa are more than sufficient to overcome the Middle-Eastern Federation and then move to attack Turkey, but they would in turn be vulnerable to interference from the EU's remaining African allies, not to mention from EU forces in the Mediterranean."

"There's an easy answer to that," Luciano interjected. "Why don't we have your Krugis pets pull their weight for once?"

"Lord Bradley has a point," Schneizel said, still smiling. "They would be the perfect instrument in the Middle East. After all, we've spent so much money on improving their economy and military, it seems only fair."

"Yes, your highness." Bismarck kept his face level, concealing his disquiet. "If Britannia calls, Krugis will answer. However, despite our efforts their society is still unstable. The pressure of a full-scale war could do considerable damage."

"But if it were successful," Schneizel mused, "it could have the opposite effect, might it not?"

"Your highness has a point, but…"

"Then we shall have Krugis contribute," Schneizel concluded. "Their role will be to destroy the Middle-Eastern Federation's forces, and support a combined thrust into Turkey. If we support them from our reserves…" Kanon tapped the keys, and several force icons vanished from the Britannian homeland and re-appeared in north Africa. "…then they should have no problems."

"Your highness, that would weaken our strategic reserve considerably," Bismarck spoke up. "Any attempt to force landings in northern or western Europe will be complicated."

"There will not be any landings in northern Europe, apart from Iceland," Schneizel replied. "I have already chosen the point of entrance." He nodded to Kanon, and the force icons remaining in the homeland moved. Schneizel's smile widened as he saw the knights' reaction.

"Oh my," Nonette said, her smirk widening. "How very bold, your highness."

"It's…unexpected," Luciano added, also smirking.

"Your highness." Dorothea cleared her throat. "That's the strongest portion of the network."

"Yes it is," Schneizel agreed, gesturing at a line of fortification icons along the south coast of Spain. "The _Santiago _line we've been hearing so much about. The fortification complex so strong that even my sister Cornelia baulked at the idea of attacking it. What tribute could we offer?"

"Chancellor," Bismarck spoke up, his tone as grim as his spirit. "Santiago is effectively impregnable."

"I would have thought a soldier of your experience would have understood," Schneizel replied, with just a hint of sarcasm, "that _no _defence is impregnable. More importantly, the EU's political leadership are as unaware of that fact as you seem to be. Breaking Santiago will break their morale, and they might start returning my calls."

Bismarck did not reply. It was clear that Schneizel had made up his mind, and would not be dissuaded. He cast his eye over the hologram as Schneizel continued the briefing, the shining icons becoming men and machines in his mind. He imagined their movements, their battles, their victories.

They would die. So many would die. With the reserves fully committed, there would be no fresh units to rotate into the battlezones. They would have to stay, far longer than was good for them. Bismarck knew, only too well, what staying too long at the front could do to men, to machines, to whole units.

Ninety days. That was all it took. Ninety days to ruin good men, perhaps forever.

Bismarck forced himself not shudder at the thought of it, at the thought of his son being hurled into the maelstrom. He felt something in that moment, not the pride he had felt in such abundance for so many years, but something for which he had no name, something he had not felt since Alexander was small enough to carry in his arms.

"_Alexander_," he thought, as the nightmare played out in front of him. "_I hope you have done as I advised. You may not get another chance._"

* * *

_**Ashford Academy**_

Alexander was weary.

He wasn't unhappy, at least not compared to how he had felt a few days earlier. Once past the initial embarrassment, the welcome the students have given him had warmed his heart. He wasn't certain that their goodwill would last, that he was anything more than a temporary amusement for them. But it was good to feel appreciated, if only for a while.

But their attention, and their merrymaking, had become too much for him after a while. Craving a few moments of solitude, he had slipped away from the happy throng and taken refuge in a corridor. The sounds of the party echoed from the chamber; the clink of glasses, the rumble of conversation, the trilling of open-hearted laughter.

Alexander paid it no mind. His eyes were on the garden beyond the window, and the gracefully-falling snow. There was something curiously peaceful about the scene, something gentle and comforting. It reminded him of another place, of happier times long past.

Times that would never come again.

"Sir Alexander?"

Alexander almost jumped. His head snapped round, and he saw Shirley standing there.

"Are you leaving?" Shirley asked. "Please don't go!"

"I…" Alexander faltered, suddenly uncertain. "I…wasn't leaving…"

"Oh…" Shirley blushed. "That's good. I mean…" She trailed off. The silence was as awkward as any that had passed between them.

"I'm…sorry if I'm fouling the atmosphere," Alexander said humbly. "I didn't mean to upset anyone, least of all you Miss Fenette."

"It's not that," Shirley said. "I was just worried, that's all." She looked away, her cheeks still red. "When I saw you standing there, you seemed so…lonely."

Alexander was about to ask her just how long she had been watching him, but the words caught in his throat. He was confused, because he hadn't really felt _lonely, _at least not as far as he could tell. He wondered what had made her think that way.

"Milly told me about what happened." Shirley managed to look up at him again. Her eyes were wide and bright, but there was a sincerity in them that Alexander found quite captivating. "Did they really court-martial you?" Alexander drew in a long breath. He wasn't the sort to complain, to seek comfort from others, but something in her eyes made him _want _to tell her.

"Yes, they did."

"That's awful!" Shirley exclaimed. "How could they do that?! You _saved _us!"

"No I didn't, Miss Fenette." Alexander felt the cold darkness reaching up from within him, but he had to say it. "Lord Kururugi saved you. Earl Asplund saved you. Major Aker and his squad saved you. Besides, I failed, and a soldier must take responsibility for his failures."

Another long silence. Alexander only then noticed that the chamber had fallen silent. A musical introduction echoed along the corridor, followed by voices raised in song.

_Silent night, holy night_

_All is calm, all is bright_

"It's because of Princess Euphemia, isn't it," Shirley said. "Milly told me you were close to her."

"She was…kind to me," Alexander replied, his voice catching in his throat. "More so than I deserve. And I let her die."

"Alexander…"

"I let her die…" Alexander's shoulders hunched. He began to shiver, as tears pricked at his eyes. "I let Zero escape...and I let her die…"

Something warm and soft wrapped itself around him. All at once an image rose in his mind, of a gentle, smiling face, framed with ebony hair, her long-fingered hand caressing his cheek.

"It wasn't your fault," Shirley whispered, her voice so tender, and so close. "It wasn't your fault."

"_You're very brave," Marianne said, lowering her voice. "That's why your father chose you, I think."_

Alexander's breath caught in his throat. He flung his arms around her, burying his head in her shoulder. He let out a whimper as the sorrow and shame flooded out of him.

"Earl Asplund didn't come for us," Shirley said. "He came for the _Lancelot_; Milly told me so. Major Aker came for a chance to kill Zero." She pulled back, looking Alexander in the eyes.

"You came for us," she went on. "At least, that's what I believe."

"Miss Fenette," Alexander croaked, overcome. "Shirley…"

"At last…" Shirley smiled, and he felt as if the world was newly-born. "You called me Shirley."

A part of him knew what this looked like, knew what someone might see. But in that moment, he could not bring himself to care.

* * *

From the doorway, just a few metres along the corridor, Milly Ashford smiled.

"_I've still got it_," she thought proudly, as she watched their loving embrace. Outside the windows, the snow fell like feathers shed from angels' wings. Behind her, the sweet voices of the Junior School choir lifted her soul. It could not have been more perfect, or more worthy.

"_Merry Christmas Shirley,_" she thought. "_And you, Alexander Waldstein._"

She heard someone approaching. It was Rivalz, with a big, rather stupid grin on his face, redeemed by the two champagne flutes he was carrying. Milly allowed him an indulgent smile as she took one of them. Rivalz was silly, presumptuous, and obsessed with her truly divine beauty, but he was a loyal friend, and it was Christmas.

"So did it work?" he whispered, bouncing on his feet like a overexcited child on Christmas morning, which it very nearly was. He glanced around her shoulder, and his eyes almost popped out.

"Can I cook?" Milly quipped. "Or can I cook?" Rivalz beamed, and held out his glass. Their glasses clinked, and Milly sipped her champagne as she glanced back at the young couple.

"Uh…Madam President?" Milly turned, and saw Rivalz standing there, an expectant look on his blushing face. A curious notion made Milly glance upward, where a sprig of mistletoe was hanging. She heard giggling from above, and sighed.

"Oh, _all right_!"

* * *

**A Merry Christmas to all who read this. I'm glad I managed to get this done in time, not just as a transitional chapter to what will come next, but also as a Christmas gift to all those who read this story and actually wanted to keep on reading this. I know it's been several months, and I want to apologise for that, but I was hoping to see at least one more episode of the Akito Gaiden before continuing. As it is, there'll be another transitional chapter to cover some of the other characters, before the war gets underway. **


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

_**Magadan, Russia, European Union, January 2018 ATB**_

It was cold.

Despite her heavy coat and fur hat, Kallen felt the wind like an icy knife on her cheek. In front of her was Svetlaya bay, the waters dark and frigid, and beyond lay the grey expanse of the sea of Okhotsk.

It would be a depressing sight at the best of times, but knowing that Japan was just beyond those dark clouds, so near and yet so far, made it all the worse.

She had spent a fairly depressing Christmas and New Year in the Russian town of Magadan, now the HQ of the Free Japan Army, as they were now apparently known. It wasn't a bad little town by any means. The locals had been surprisingly welcoming, even sympathetic, and the sound of the church choirs singing had helped ease her troubled heart.

The others had taken it hard. For many it had been their first New Year outside of Japan, let alone away from home. There had been tears, and whimpering. Sake and vodka had been drunk. There had been little in the way of cheer.

And once the new year was in, Tohdoh had gotten started. As commander of the FJA, he was determined to hammer the Japanese rebels into a crack military unit of the sort he was used to. It meant uniforms. It meant spit and polish. It meant drill, day in, day out, while being yelled at by foul-mouthed drill sergeants. It meant getting up at five in the morning.

Kallen had avoided the worst of it by virtue of being a knightmare pilot, but that was a mercy in itself. Tohdoh had never liked working with partisans, that much she had already known, but she had never expected him to try and take the _Guren_ from her. It was as if a part of her had been torn out.

There was nothing she could do about it. Ougi was away in Paris, trying to negotiate a better deal for the Japanese. Rakshata was god-knows-where.

And Zero…

"Such a morose expression," came an annoyingly familiar voice. "One would think you'd lost your best friend."

Kallen almost wanted to hit her. That what she said was true made it all the worse. She glanced sideways, and there indeed was CC, sashaying towards her in a white fur coat and matching hat. Kallen didn't know how she'd gotten them, and didn't particularly want to know.

"I heard about the _Guren_," the immortal went on, standing next to her and gazing out over the sea. "That Tohdoh doesn't know how to treat a lady."

"Like I care about that," Kallen griped. She didn't really want to be around CC right now. She was still processing all the things the immortal girl had told her, after she had just waltzed in one day, soaking wet and pale as a corpse. She had learnt things she could never have thought possible, and others she wished she could un-learn.

"I see," CC mused, unruffled by her manner. "Is it about Lelouch then?"

Kallen gritted her teeth. Of all the things she could have said, of all the bad feelings she could have dredged up, it just had to be _him_! Zero, who was Lelouch Lamperouge, who was Lelouch vi Britannia. Zero, who was her wise leader; who was Lelouch, who was her annoying classmate.

"You're still angry about it," CC went on, a sour hint to her tone. "Even after everything I told you. Rather childish if you ask me."

"What am I supposed to do?!" Kallen snapped, rounding on her. "What am I supposed to _feel_?!"

"What indeed."

Kallen stared down at the ground, clenching her fists. She didn't know what to think, let alone feel. Lelouch had lied to her, used her, _betrayed _her. He had deceived her heart by pretending to be Zero, and had tricked her again with that story about being Zero's ally. He had used her, the Black Knights, and all of Japan, to pursue his own private vendetta.

And yet…

"I told you his reasons," CC said, as if reading her thoughts. "I would've have thought you'd be a little more sympathetic."

"It's not that I'm not sympathetic," Kallen growled. She understood what a murdered mother and a crippled sister could drive a man to do. She had seen it played out a thousand times, in a thousand lives, over eight long years since Britannia conquered Japan.

"So then?"

"It doesn't mean he can just _use _us like that!" she shrieked. "Why didn't he tell us?! Why couldn't he _trust _us?!"

"_Could_ he trust you?"

Kallen opened her mouth to retort, but no sound came out. Was CC right? _Could _they have followed a Britannian teenager with a grudge? Would they have given him even _half _a chance?

"I…oh I don't know!"

It was a petulant, futile thing to say. But everything was futile now. It wasn't as if she was even part of things any more. Not only had Tohdoh taken the _Guren _from her, but he'd declared the Black Knights disbanded, along with just about all the other groups who'd made it out. She wasn't sure when the proverbial was going to hit the fan, but she had sensed it rumbling below the surface, seen it in the eyes of her former comrades. It would happen before too long.

"So what will you do?" CC asked. The wind moaned in the distance.

"I don't know," Kallen replied glumly. "I honestly don't know."

"If you feel like leaving, I'm fine with that," CC said casually. "The pizza here tastes like cardboard."

"Why do you care?" Kallen glanced suspiciously at her. "It's not like I'd take you with me."

"You don't have a choice," CC replied. "I want to protect my investment."

"Investment?" Kallen was bewildered. "You mean me?"

"I told you the truth about Lelouch," CC reminded her. "I told you the truth about me. I told you about Geass. That makes you an investment."

"For what?" Kallen glared at the immortal girl. She should have known she wouldn't have told her all those things out of kindness.

"For the future." CC's doll-like face did not move, but one green eye shifted to meet her gaze. "You do want to get Zero back, don't you?"

"Zero!?" Kallen's heart flew to her mouth. "You know where he is!?"

"Approximately," CC admitted.

"Why the hell didn't you say so?!" Kallen demanded, infuriated. "We have to go get him right now!"  
"That's precisely why I didn't say anything." CC perused her fingernails. "You'll go charging off to find him and get yourself killed. More importantly, you might get him killed along with you. That I cannot allow."

"Then what the _hell _am I supposed to do?!" Kallen snarled, rounding on CC with clenched fists. "Sit around here and do _nothing_ like you?!"

"I'm not doing nothing," CC retorted mildly. "I've eaten a lot of pizza."

For a moment, Kallen _truly _wanted to hit her. She gave a snarl of frustration and turned sharply away, cursing her powerlessness.

"If we're going to get him back," CC said, without looking up from her manicure. "We need to do some preparation."

"What kind of preparation?" Kallen asked cautiously, half-turning to look at her.

"Not much for the moment," the immortal replied. "For now, we need to get your _Guren _back."

"And just how do you plan to do that?" Kallen snorted in derision. "Tohdoh hates me, almost as much as he hates the Black Knights. He'd rather die than give it to a little _schoolgirl _like me."

"Funny you should say that." CC looked out over the cold, dark sea. "It's a choice he might have to make, quite soon in fact."

* * *

_**Government Bureau, Tokyo Settlement, Area 11**_

There was a lot to do.

So Alexander Waldstein had found when he had first reported for duty as commander of his very own Special Dragoon squadron a few weeks earlier. His time in Princess Cornelia's service had taught him most of what he needed to know, but having to do it for himself was still a shock to his system. He had been surprised by just how much he had to deal with for himself, compared to his previous responsibilities as a devicer and staff officer; not to mention how difficult it could be at times.

First up was personnel. A knightmare squadron consisted of at least one company, which in turn consisted of three platoons, each of six knightmares. After many hours spent pouring over personnel files, he had selected eighteen devicers from Princess Cornelia's now-disbanded knightmare guards. For his company captain, he had put forward four possibilities in order of descending suitability.

Sitting with an uncharacteristic slouch at his desk, Alexander stared mournfully at the squadron list on his computer screen. Of his Princess' guards, death and medical discharges had accounted for around half. Of the survivors, a substantial number had resigned from the service. Some of them were veterans taking long-overdue discharges, cashing in while they had the chance. But others had been young men and women like himself, and that had bothered Alexander. It saddened him that so many would throw away their careers, their futures in the army, because of what had happened. He nevertheless understood their reasons. There had been no _formal _blemish on their records, no official reason why their careers should be in jeopardy, but he knew it was never that simple. Some disgraces ran too deep to be wiped away.

There had been at least two suicides that he knew of.

Alexander felt a fool. He had gotten it into his head that they would rally to him, that they could recreate the old days together. With even a squadron's worth of Cornelia's veterans, they could have achieved anything.

But then why _should _they have come to him? Why should they want to follow him after following someone like Princess Cornelia? What was he compared to her?

He knew what he was, as he knew why they had stayed away. He was a first-time commander who hadn't even made thirty, with nothing but a string of kills and a princess' favour to his credit. The former was common enough among those devicers who survived more than a campaign or two, and the latter could only open doors while said princess was known to be alive. As it was he dared not try and play on her name; it would only lead to aspersions being cast on his dignity; his and that of his princess.

Endless bargaining and pleading with the personnel bureau had thus far left him with two platoons, one of which hadn't even arrived yet. The one present was made up of former guardsmen like himself, young low-grade nobles with ancient names and no money, left over after the rest of the RPI had picked the disbanded regiment clean. Alexander did not want to feel slighted by their presence, or to think badly of them as soldiers, but there was no denying that he had the gotten the dregs.

The other platoon was a real mystery. His requests for more information on the 'Special Honorary Foreign Legion', as the platoon was grandly titled, had gone largely unanswered. The most he'd been able to find out was that the unit was part of an Irregular division under the supervision of the OSI. Either someone was trying to unload a bunch of unmanageable irregulars on him, or the OSI wanted an entire platoon of plants inside his squadron. Or both.

Alexander sighed. He wished Rai was still with him, for he could have used the young squire's help and support. But he had been recalled by Lady Enneagram. He couldn't ask Major Aker for advice, since he and his own squadron had already been deployed, some said to Krugis. He couldn't bother General Darlton with something like that, not when he had so much else to deal with.

He slumped back in his chair, a strange melancholy coming over him. To think he had been in such good spirits when he returned to duty a few weeks earlier. He tried to bring those bright, happy feelings to mind, to remember what it was that had made his heart beat fast.

"_Shirley…_"

Alexander felt himself blushing as the memories flooded back. He really shouldn't have let Milly talk him into spending the night. He should have politely refused, and taken his leave with the other guests. But there and then, after what had happened, something inside just wouldn't let him say it. He couldn't bring himself to walk away from her, to sever the…_something _that seemed to bind them together.

The door chime drew him from his reverie. He sat up, and took a moment to adjust his uniform.

"Come!" The door slid open, and it was all Alexander could do not to gape as Villetta Nu stepped through.

"Captain Villetta Nu, first Baroness Nu, reporting for duty sir!" Villetta snapped to attention and saluted. Alexander was so surprised that he couldn't say anything. She stood before his desk, her voluptuous body squeezed into the purple coat and black skirt of a female RPI officer. Her yellow, almost feline eyes stared straight at the wall behind him.

"Uh, yes," Alexander murmured, trying to organise his mind. "At ease captain." Villetta did so, her high-heeled boots clacking.

"My credentials, sir." She held out a dossier with the RPI logo emblazoned on the cover. Alexander took it, not knowing how else to respond, and flipped it open. Sure enough, the first item was a formal transfer order.

"Take a seat, Captain Nu," he said, buying himself a few moments to think.

"Thank you sir." Villetta sat down, her legs demurely together, but her aura anything but. Alexander began flicking through the dossier, trying not to be unsettled by her presence.

"It says here you've been transferred to my command as of yesterday," he said, looking up at her. "Is that correct?"

"Yes sir," Villetta replied. "According to the personnel bureau you were in need of a senior captain."

"Ah, yes." Alexander glanced down at the dossier again. "It also says you were ennobled in the New Year's list. My congratulations."

"Thank you sir. It is a great honour."

Alexander stared down at the dossier, trying to make sense of it all. Villetta Nu, who had disappeared after the incident at Port Yokosuka, whose record was tainted by association with the disgraced Jeremiah Gottwald, and by losing a _Sutherland _into the bargain. Yet here she was, a captain and a baroness, her sins forgiven and forgotten.

There was only one answer that made sense.

"Indeed," he said, pausing a moment to choose his words. "The OSI has been most generous, as has his Majesty." The flicker in her eyes told him his suspicions were correct. "Tell me then captain, what does the OSI want with me?"

Villetta was visibly unsettled, but she did not reply. Alexander knew of only one more thing that might get a response out of her, but it was risky.

"I am led to understand that you were involved in the incident at Port Yokosuka," he went on, keeping his eyes firmly on her. "That you saw Zero's face. Is that not why you are here, captain?"

"Sir…" Villetta paused, her lips tight with what might have been anger. "I am here to fight under your command."

"To fight," Alexander replied accusingly, "and to spy on me?"

"Sir." Villetta looked as if she was trying to control herself. "I give you my word, I haven't come to spy on you."

"Then you admit that you're a member of the OSI?" A part of Alexander cringed at the way he was treating her, but without an answer he couldn't even begin to trust her.

"I…am, sir," Villetta answered.

"Very well," Alexander said, feeling a curious sense of relief. "You've told me why _you _are here. Now tell me why the OSI wants you here." Villetta cleared her throat.

"My orders are to act as your OSI liaison," she said, "and to assist with the integration of the Special Honorary Foreign Legion."

"Yes, the irregulars." Alexander managed to keep his exasperation out of his tone. "Do you actually have any useful information about them?"

"Sir?"

"Their numbers perhaps? Capabilities? Or are those matters above my clearance?"

Alexander saw the flicker of anger run across her face, and knew he had pushed her too far. But it was too late to take back his words.

"There are four of them," she said. "They are of…_uncertain _provenance, but they are very capable devicers. They're also equipped with advanced prototype knightmares, the GX-01 _Alpha _series, hence the secrecy."

"I see." Alexander's irritation was tinged with intrigue. He knew little of the GX series beyond vague rumours, and while he finally had an explanation for all the secrecy, it helped him very little. "Four of them. Two short of a full platoon. I suppose it won't be too much of a problem."

"Sir," Villetta spoke up. "I might be able to do something about that."

"You might?" Alexander thought fast. Was she making such an offer out of duty, or was she trying to curry favour? Did it really matter?

"I know of a…_suitable _candidate in another unit," Villetta went on, straight-faced. "Dame Soma Peries, of the Airborne Knightmare Corps."

"Peries," Alexander mused. "I believe she's in Major Aker's squadron." He saw the look that flashed across Villetta's face. Evidently their relationship wasn't what it had been. "Will he agree to the transfer?"

"If it's for your sake," Villetta replied, with conviction, "he will certainly do it. I...He holds you in great regard, sir."

"I see. Very well, I shall request her transfer. If Major Aker can be persuaded to part with her, she should be an asset."

"Sir…" Villetta paused, and cleared her throat. "If you will forgive my presumption, please allow me to send the transfer request."

Alexander looked her in the eyes, and saw pain there as well as determination. He wondered what had passed between the two of them.

"Very well, please do so." It occurred to Alexander that he was taking advantage of her relationship with Graham Aker, whatever state it was currently in, but he couldn't afford to be _that _scrupulous. Besides, it had been freely offered.

"Yes sir. I shall do so immediately."

* * *

_**Paris, European Union**_

The silence was awkward, almost painful.

Kaguya Sumeragi longed to say something, for something to fill that terrible void. Yet neither she nor her companion could bring themselves to say anything. There was nothing to be said.

Both stared down at the bed before them, and the figure lying on it. Jacque Sant-Clare's skin was pale, his chest wrapped in bandages, his face half-covered by an oxygen mask. Tubes snaked from his arms to the auto-distributor, hanging over the bed like a great metal spider. A heart monitor beeped with monotonous regularity. His eyes were closed, and but for everything else he would seem to be peacefully sleeping.

Kaguya tried to tell herself not to worry. The hospital was one of the finest in the entire EU, and the doctors were all confident of a full recovery. Some of them had professed amazement that he had survived his ordeal, calling it a miracle.

It wasn't him she was worried about, but the girl standing next to her. Her heart clenched as she glanced at her companion. With her long blonde hair in a sideswept fringe, and wearing a blue jacket and frilly white skirt, complete with tall white boots, Colette Sant-Clare looked her best even then. But her face, made for bright smiles, was full of sorrow; and the eyes that had lit up stage and screen across the EU and the world were dull with sadness.

And it was _her _fault.

"Why did he have to go?" Colette asked, perhaps rhetorically. "How could he be so stupid?" She spoke in English, the only language they both shared.

"Forgive me," Kaguya whispered. "It was for me. He…risked his life for me."

She would never forget that terrible night, when all her dreams had crumbled to dust before her eyes, and a boy she loved bled out his life upon her chest.

"_Kaguya…tu es…mon reve._"

"As I said," Colette snarked, her lip curling in disgust. "_Stupid_." Kaguya's heart sank. There was no mistaking her meaning. She knew she had no business calling herself Colette's friend, but the words still stung.

"He was very brave," she said. "And chivalrous too. Were he my brother…"

"Well he's _not _your brother!" snapped Colette, rounding on her with eyes blazing. "He's _my _brother! And because of _you_ he might have been killed!"

"Colette, _please," _Kaguya pleaded. "I just want to help…"

"You've _helped _enough already!?" Colette shrieked. "Helped us all into ruin! You've no idea what's going on, what _harm _you've done you damned El…!"

The room went very cold. The fury faded from Colette's face as she realised what she had almost said. She turned away, her face hard, but her eyes full of pain.

"Look what you made me say," she griped in a low voice. "Even me. Are we all turning into Britannians now?"

"Colette…" Kaguya paused, and cleared her throat. A part of her was shocked, hurt by what she had almost said. But Colette was suffering, in ways that to Kaguya were all too familiar. She strode around the bed, until she stood opposite the grieving girl. She stared defiantly into Colette's eyes as she took Jacque's hand in her own.

"I love Jacque," she said. "I love him at least as much as you do. So please, for his sake, for this boy whom we both love, tell me what I can do to help you." Colette sighed a world-weary sigh that should not have come from one so young.

"You really don't see it, do you," she said sourly. "You really have _no _idea. The problem, mademoiselle, is _you. _You're here, in this room, on this continent, being the problem with every breath you take."

Kaguya willed herself not to reply. Colette's words had unsettled her, but she needed to hear more.

"There's going to be a war soon," Colette went on. "Britannia lusts for it, and the fools who govern us deny it or fear it. My father is First Consul, first among three; it is he who must hold things together, and prepare us for the war." She paused, her countenance darkening. "But his foe is Richard Dressler."

"The Second Consul?" Kaguya was surprised.

"As I said, the government is full of fools, liars, and traitors. Some of them are blind to the danger, others _want _Britannia to conquer us because they think they can profit by it. Ever since he denounced the Britannian conquest of Japan, they have tried to discredit him by saying that he acts not in the union's interests, but those of Japan." She gave Kaguya a hard look. "Especially those of the Six Houses of Kyoto."

"It's not true!" Kaguya blurted out, horrified. "We never had any connections with him!"

"I know that, you know that, father knows that," Colette replied tersely. "But the people don't. They don't believe anything any politician tells them these days, unless they _want _to believe it. So the moment my father tries to organise against the Britannians, his enemies will accuse him of being in hock to Kyoto. He'll be discredited, and nothing will be done. And I'll never see him again…"

She trailed off suddenly, lowering her head so that Kaguya couldn't see her eyes.

"They'll arrest him?" Kaguya asked, sickened at the thought.

"No." Colette's voice was suddenly hoarse. "The courts will give us to that woman…our mother."

Kaguya forced her face into a reassuring smile. She had heard about the messy divorce between Maurice Sant-Clare and his wife five years earlier. If Colette's mood was anything to go by, the situation was more complex than she had realised.

"But surely, your mother…"

"She's no mother of mine!" Colette snapped, erupting with sudden rage. "You don't know what she did, what she _tried _to do! You don't know the _lies _she told, and those useless _cretins _all believed her! Stupid, pathetic idiots!"

She paused, breathing heavily.

"She only lost the case because her embezzling came out," she went on. "She'd been taking my money. That's all that mattered to her, that and the fame. She doesn't care about Jacque at all; he's no use to her because he wouldn't perform." She sniffed, and Kaguya's heart clenched as she saw tears squeezing through her clenched eyelids.

"But she wouldn't stop, not ever. She spent all her money on lawyers, tried all kinds of stunts, made our lives a misery. She hates father,_ hates _him more than anything. If she puts it about that father let Jacque go to war, and got hurt…" She let out a sob.

"She'll get the courts to give us to her!" she wailed. "Father will be ruined! And she'll make them give her my money! All of it! I'll never be free of her!" She buried her face in her hands and wept. Kaguya looked mournfully on, yearning to comfort her, yet knowing she didn't have the right.

Never in all her life had she felt so _useless. _

* * *

The officer's club bar was noisy, but only mildly so. Conversation rumbled in the background, punctuated by the clink and clunk of glasses, and the mumbling of the TV.

Neil Dylandy wasn't in the best of moods. It wasn't the venue that was the problem, or the beer, or even his seat. The alcove table gave him a good view of the rest of the bar, while allowing him to feel out of sight. It was the sort of seat he liked the most, one that let him be alone even in a crowded bar.

It had been nearly a fortnight since he had gotten back from Japan. He supposed he shouldn't complain. The entire team had gotten out alive, along with several thousand Japanese refugees. Even from a strategic perspective it wasn't _that _bad of an outcome. The revolt had ultimately failed, but from what he had since heard the damage to Britannia's holdings had been considerable. Military bases trashed, sakuradite production and distribution seriously disrupted, and a few million Britannian troops tied down for months, maybe years, while it was all put right.

So then, why couldn't he muster much satisfaction? What was causing his melancholy?

"Do you mind if I sit here?" The voice took Neil by surprise. He looked up with a start, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw Leesa Kujo standing there, a tired smile on her face.

"Oh…go right ahead," he heard himself say. Leesa sat down opposite him. In her hand was a glass of what looked to him like strong and expensive alcohol. She was at it again.

"You don't look happy," Leesa said, in a casual sort of way. "Care to talk about it?"

"I'm not sure I do," Neil replied, staring down into his beer. "It's…messy and complicated."

"Why not tell me anyway." Leesa took a swig of her drink. "You never know. It might help." Neil sighed, and braced himself.

"I…I just keep wondering," he said, his words catching in his throat. "What the hell was it all for?"

"The mission?"

"I…" He trailed off again. "I keep telling myself we did our best, that it was the right thing to be doing. But…" He shook his head sadly. "Maybe we did some good, but there's no denying we failed."

"You're right on that point," Leesa replied, swigging her drink again. "We failed, no two ways about it." Neil hung his head, stung by her words although they were true.

"We were so close," he said, his throat tightening with the pain of the memory. "We were so _damn _close." His hand clenched around his glass. "We _could've _won! I _know _we could've won!" He stared down at the table, too ashamed to look up.

"So that's why you're here," Leesa said, a sour, scornful edge to her voice. "You came to drown your sorrows."

Neil's head snapped up. For all his depression, he had enough pride left to be angry.

"I know, I know." Leesa went on. "I'm in no position to criticize." Her look of weary resignation caught him off-guard, draining his sudden anger away. "I know what a drink can do when you're down." She smiled a tired, but disarming smile. Neil felt his cheeks redden at the sight.

"It's my coping strategy," Leesa explained, sipping at her drink. "When things are bad, I get completely wasted, cry and scream a bit, then get on with my life. It's not the greatest way to cope, but it works for me."

Neil sighed. It was a side of Leesa Kujo he had seen before, all those months ago in Egypt. She had drunk then too, washing away her grief for her old lover, Emilio Ribisi. Neil felt uncomfortable, realising that he had quite forgotten about that man, his brief comrade. How soon memory faded.

"I…don't normally drink much," he admitted awkwardly. "I don't like the way it makes me feel. I don't like what…comes out."

"Then you don't much like yourself," Leesa mused. "When you're drunk, that's the real you. You say what you want, do what you want, sometimes even _feel_ what you want."

"Maybe I don't." Neil gritted his teeth as an old anger rose. "But it never did me any good, that stuff."

"Come again?"  
"They kept going on and on at me. Let it out, emote, talk about it. What the _hell _was there to talk about!?" The last came out as a snarl of rage as the memories of those empty eyes and bland faces came flooding back.

"I hate that," he continued. "Ever since then I always hated in when people lost control, when they stamped and screamed about the _smallest_ things, like its worse than having your family blown up in front of you." He trailed off, realising what he had said.

"Yeah, it kind of grates," Leesa admitted. "That's why I get wasted alone. There's nobody to complain about it but me." She chuckled. "So how _do _you cope then, Neil Dylandy? How do _you _get it all off your chest?"

"I…well, I don't do anything really," Neil admitted awkwardly. "I just…I just _think_, really. I hang around somewhere, trying to think about something else, and it just drains out."

"I used to do that," Leesa replied. "But it wouldn't drain out fast enough. Not for me."

The sound in the bar shifted as someone turned the TV volume up.

"Have you heard from the others?" Neil asked, wanting to change the subject.

"Not much," Leesa replied. "Louise and Saji are in Spain, visiting her parents. Jacque's in the hospital, as you know. I don't know where Patrick is, and…"

She trailed off, turning towards the TV with a look of confusion on her face. Neil followed her gaze, and his heart sank as he saw a familiar, red-headed face on the screen, spouting into a reporter's proffered microphone. The words _FREE JAPAN ARMY MUTINY _scrolled along the bottom of the screen.

"Oh _God,_" Neil groaned.

"Tamaki." Leesa drained her glass. "I think I need another drink."

* * *

_**Magadan, European Union**_

The atmosphere in the office was tense.

Kyoshiroh Tohdoh sat at his desk, his face a mask of cold-blooded fury. Around the sparsely-furnished office the four members of the Shisei-ken hovered nervously, glancing from their leader, to one-another, to the three men standing in front of him. Not a word was spoken, but to the empathically-inclined the office would have felt like a trapped thunderstorm.

"So then." Tohdoh's voice was colder than the north wind. "You've come to make your demands."

"Damn straight we have!" Shinichiro Tamaki retorted, apparently too angry to be intimidated.

"I should kill all three of you where you stand." Tohdoh took only a little satisfaction in the looks of fear that flashed over their faces. Something told him they weren't going to bend _that _easily.

"If you want to do that, there's no way we can stop you," Kento Sugiyama replied, with a calmness that made Tohdoh want to spit. "But it won't solve anything."

"We're not doing this to cause pointless trouble, colonel Tohdoh," added Minami Yoshitaka, the apparent ringleader. "We ask only for fair treatment."

"And for you to stop working us like dogs!" Tamaki cut in, only to yelp as Yoshitaka kicked him in the shins.

"Fair treatment?" Tohdoh sneered. "You find military discipline _unfair_? You find meaningful training _unfair_? You find a clear chain of command _unfair_?"

It was bad enough to be dictated-to like this, but from _those _two it was a like a fist in the gut. He had seen potential in Yoshitaka and Sugiyama, and thought maybe they would understand what he was trying to achieve. Evidently he had misjudged them.

"That's not what we object to," Yoshitaka replied levelly. "We understand the need for discipline and proper training." He shot a glance at a cowed Tamaki. "What's more, we agreed that we would fight against Britannia under EU command." His lip curled, and Tohdoh knew what was coming. "We object to the way the EU has treated our people, but like you, we have chosen to trust in Ougi's efforts."

There was a long, tense pause, as if they were waiting for him to say something. Tohdoh had nothing to say, for he already knew what they wanted.

"Colonel sir, if you want to start your own army, that's your own business," Yoshitaka went on. "But we are the Black Knights, and that's something you have no right to take from us. We demand that you stop harassing us for identifying ourselves as such."

"We also demand that you return the _Guren Nishiki _to its rightful pilot," added Sugiyama. "To strip Kallen Kozuki of it is not only discriminatory, but downright insane."

"You…_demand?_" Tohdoh's voice was a cold, dangerous hiss. "You _demand_!?" Tamaki yelped as he leapt to his feet, his chair crashing to the floor behind him. "You refuse my lawful orders! You assault and disarm those I placed in authority over you! And you have the _gall _to make demands of me?!"

"Our demands are neither illegal nor unjust," Yoshitaka replied, somehow maintaining his composure in the face of Tohdoh's rage. "And we won't be intimidated." He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, followed by his companions. The room was deathly quiet.

"Colonel," Shogo Asahina turned to his leader. "What do we do?"

"Do?" Tohdoh barked. "If they think I'm going to give in, they've got another thing coming!"

"And what would that be?" asked a grim-faced Ryoga Senba. "We're a little short on options."

"And what do you suggest I do?" Tohdoh rounded on his old comrade, eyes flashing with anger. "Give them what they want? If I do so, I will _never _have authority over them again." His eyes glanced involuntarily towards the phone on the desk.

"Oh no!" Kosetsu Urabe interjected. "Don't even think it! Don't you _dare_!"

"As he said," Tohdoh replied, "we're short on options."

"And that was never one of them!" roared Senba. "Colonel, if you bring those KGB leftovers in here, no self-respecting Japanese soldier will take your orders ever again!"

"And if I give in to that…_rabble _out there!" Tohdoh snapped back, "no soldier _anywhere _will take my orders ever again!"

There was a long, stony silence.

"Colonel," Nagisa Chiba spoke up cautiously. "We're all with you, all of us to the end. But those men and women out there, they aren't the same."

"She's right, colonel," Senba added. "They're not the army we knew, and you can't mould them into it either; they're too set in their ways. What worked with the old army, _our _army, just won't work with them."

Tohdoh turned to face away from them, head lowered in thought.

"I need them to fight," he said. "The Britannians will come soon. I need real soldiers, not Zero's rabble. They can't fight as one if they cling to their old identities."

"We know, colonel sir," Senba replied, his tone grim but sympathetic. "If I had five thousand young lads and lasses fresh from our homeland, I could give you real soldiers, a real army to lead. But all we've got is them, and we have to make the best of it."

"He's right," Asahina spoke up. "Who cares what they call themselves? If they want to be Black Knights, we're better off just letting them."

"Zero is gone!" Tohdoh snarled, rounding on them. "Can't they see that he betrayed us?!"

"They don't want to believe it," Chiba replied. "And nothing we say or do can _make _them believe it. They have to learn to live without him."

"And what of Kozuki? Am I to put our most powerful knightmare frame in the hands of a teenage girl?"

"Just what the _hell _have you got against her?" demanded Urabe. "She's our best devicer! And even if she wasn't, she's a hell of a lot more professional than most of those idiots out there!"

"Urabe's right, colonel," Chiba cut in. "Even without all that, she's _earned _the right to pilot the _Guren. _Taking it away from her was a mistake."

Tohdoh glared at them, his thin lips set. Though he wanted to yell and scream and smash heads together until the problem went away, a part of him knew it would be to no effect. And no matter what a nasty little voice in the dark depths of his mind kept whispering, he could not believe that the four of them were lying to him. They were his Shisei-ken, his four holy swords. They had shed their blood together, won victory and endured defeat together. If he allowed himself to believe that they had turned against him, that they were undermining him, then he could never trust anyone again, perhaps not even himself.

And that way madness lay.

"Leave me," he growled, with what remained of his resolve. "You will have my answer presently."

Knowing better than to press him further, the foursome left the room, leaving him alone.

Alone, with his doubts.

* * *

_**Paris, European Union**_

Kaname Ougi didn't know what to say or do.

He was tired. He was hungry. He was _sorely _tempted by the bottle of Ginjo-grade sake waiting in his bedroom refrigerator. A very long and very hot bath wouldn't have gone amiss either. But not was not the time.

He leaned on the window frame, gazing mournfully out over the city. Paris was indeed the city of lights, a sea of radiance stretching from horizon to horizon. Before him the Champs Elysees stretched from left to right, a mass of cars and hurrying figures, all of them oblivious of the drama playing out in the expensive hotel above them.

He turned to look at Kaguya, seated on the sofa as she had been for the past half hour. Her head was down, her pretty kimono seeming to sag around her like a shroud. In her hands was a piece of paper, bearing the message that had denied them all their rest that night.

"But why?" asked Naomi Inoue, seated on the sofa opposite Kaguya's. "Why ask her to testify before the hemicycle?"

"It should be you," insisted Takashi Yamada, glaring darkly at him from by the big desk, where Ougi had spent most of the day trying to contain the fallout from the Black Knights' mutiny. "They kept pushing for you to lead the government-in-exile, after all."

"It was Sant-Clare's people who pushed for him," interjected Junichi Sato, standing by the printer. "This has Dressler's paw-prints all over it."

"The Second Consul?" Ougi asked, confused. "But why this? Why now?"

"He leads the peace party!" Yamada snapped irritably. "He'll do anything to keep Britannia happy!"

Ougi knew what that meant. At best it meant there would be no formal Japanese government-in-exile, a project into which Ougi had found himself sucked before he had even left the hospital. First Consul Maurice Sant-Clare had, apparently at the request of the Black Knights, declared that _he _should be the interim Prime Minister. He had accepted the position only after much cajoling from his comrades, and arrived in Paris only to find that it still didn't officially exist. The establishment of the new government-in-exile was supposed to be a mere formality, but the Council of Forty had decided to cause trouble, and the process had been in deadlock ever since.

It was exhausting. It was _frustrating_. It had meant days of seemingly meaningless phone calls, emails, and meetings with one functionary, journalist or another. But Ougi knew that things could be far worse, and could still get worse if the Council caved in to Britannia's persistent demands.

He glanced again at Yamada and Sato. Like him they were both Japanese refugees, but the similarity ended there. Yamada had been a mid-level diplomatic functionary, and Sato had worked in a major corporation's Paris building. Both had been on EU soil when Japan was attacked, and both had known where to go and who to ask. As such, they had walked the streets of Paris as EU citizens while their fellow Japanese languished in reserve housing, some of them waiting for years just for a work permit, let alone citizenship.

A part of Ougi resented the privileges those men and others like them had enjoyed for all those years. But at the same time he knew he could achieve little without them. Besides, having seen one of the refugee ghettoes, he wouldn't have wished such conditions on his own worst enemy.

"It doesn't make sense though," he said, shaking his head to drive away his exhaustion. "Calling Lady Kaguya to testify, even though she's still a child. I can't believe they'd take such a risk over this."

"It's not about the government-in-exile," said Kaguya, her head still lowered, her eyes shadowed. "It's about the First Consul." Her shoulders hunched, and her lips wobbled. "They're using me to bring down the government."

"But…but how?" Ougi was incredulous. "How could they…?"

"Lady Kaguya," Inoue turned to face her. "Did you hear this from Miss Colette?"

"Yes." Kaguya sniffed. "She said that Dressler's group are trying to make out that the First Consul is working for the Kyoto Six. They want to make me…say things, to make it look like its true." She sniffed again, her voice cracking. "She said some of them know about Jacque…that he went to war. They'll use it against the First Consul, to force him out." Her shoulders began to shake.

"It's because of me," she went on, tears running down her face. "They know because he got hurt, and he got hurt because of me."

Ougi watched her with a sad heart. A part of him yearned to comfort her, but the rest of him held back. It was the ingrained, unanswerable instinct that made him want to bend at the waist. She was a Sumeragi, the daughter and heir of an ancient and noble family, one of the Six Houses of Kyoto. What was more, with Kirihara and the others dead, she was its sole survivor; all that remained of that old order.

It was strange. Ougi knew he should resent the six houses, hate them even. With the power and wealth of the sakuradite, they had manipulated Japanese politics and the global economy on a whim. They had bent Japan to their narrow vision, blocked all progress that did not make them wealthier or more powerful. Britannia may have destroyed Japan in a physical sense, but in so many other ways it had died long ago.

But seeing her there, so alone and so sad, he could not muster even a curled lip. He found he didn't even _want _to hate her. Maybe it was just human kindness, sympathy for a child in distress. Or maybe it was because he knew she was different. She had been their benefactor, maybe even their comrade. And she was suffering now.

"I'll be in my room," Kaguya said, standing up and heading for the door.

"You guys may as well go," Ougi said as the door closed behind her. "There's nothing more we can do tonight." Sato and Yamada left without a word.

"Ougi-san," Inoue said, coming up behind him.

"Just go, Inoue-san," Ougi replied. "I…I just can't do this."

"Don't say that, Ougi-san," Inoue pleaded. "You're our leader now. It's what everyone agreed to."

"Our leader?" Ougi turned away from her and stalked across the room, slumping onto one of the sofas. "Tell that to the guys at Magadan. Tell it to the dead."

"Ougi-san, they still believe in you," Inoue insisted gently. "It's Tohdoh they have a problem with, not you."

"Tell the council that." Ougi sighed. He felt like falling asleep there and then. "I know it sounds callous, but they're my only bargaining chip. If I can't keep those guys on side, why the hell should they bother with me?"

"Ougi-san…"

* * *

_**Government Bureau, Tokyo Settlement, Area 11**_

As Alexander stepped through the door, the sight brought him up short.

The cargo container stood in the middle of the hangar floor, looming like some ancient monolith. A great oblong of dark metal, it stood ten metres tall on its end. Technicians in orange-brown swarmed around it, and two worker frames stood on either side, having evidently hauled it into its current position.

Alexander stared up at it, wondering what on earth it could be.

"Ah, Major Waldstein!" called a voice from the crowd around the container. Alexander blinked, and saw a young man in a green uniform jacket and white trousers detach himself from the throng and walk towards him. He had a heart-shaped, delicate-looking face, and pale green hair topped with a wedge hat in the same colour as his uniform. He was shorter than Alexander, with slight build that looked as if he would snap in a gust of wind, yet he bore himself with a quiet self-assurance.

"Thank you for taking the time to meet us, Major Waldstein." The youth snapped his heels together and bowed. "Livonze Almark, at your service. His imperial highness Prince Schneizel sends his warmest regards."

"I thank you," Alexander replied, not knowing what else to say. He wished he'd brought Villetta with him. "But, you didn't tell me what your business was."

"My business is to serve you, Major Waldstein." Livonze gave him a cold, somewhat feline smile. "I am tasked with delivering your new steed, and with ensuring that it meets your complete satisfaction."

"My steed?" Alexander glanced quizzically up at the container. "A new knightmare? For me?"

"Of course." Livonze's purple eyes sparkled. "Prince Schneizel has been following your career with some interest, and is most impressed with your prowess as a devicer. As such, he has chosen you to pilot this new machine in combat."

"I see." Alexander felt more than a little flattered. The Chancellor himself had noticed him? And not only that, he had been following his career? Even for a son of the Knight of One, to enjoy the good graces of Prince Schneizel el Britannia, second prince and Chancellor of the Empire, was a boon indeed. "But…what sort of knightmare is it?" He gazed up at the container, and suddenly remembered Major Aker's new knightmare. "Is it anything like the ATI?"

"The ATI?" To his surprise, Livonze actually chuckled. "My good Major Waldstein, the ATI is junk compared to the creations of the Innovators."

Alexander's eyes widened in surprise. He had heard of the Innovators, but knew little about them beyond vague rumour and idle gossip. His only reliable information was that they were some kind of think tank or research bureau, and that they enjoyed Prince Schneizel's patronage. Why would such a group be helping him? For that matter, why was _Schneizel_ helping him?

"Why don't I show you." Livonze made an airy gesture to one of the technicians. Within moments they were moving, swarming away from the container as one of them tapped at a control panel. A metallic clunk resounded through the hangar as the forward face of the container split from top to bottom, followed by a groan of metal-on-metal as the two worker frames pulled the container open. Alexander stared, wonderstruck, at what stood inside.

It was tall, around seven metres from head to feet. Its human shape was heavy-set and powerful, white armour gleaming in the light. A broad, kite-shaped shield hung from the left forearm, and tiny green eyes gazed out from under a protruding brow topped with a golden crest. It reminded Alexander of the pictures he had seen of his father's new _Galahad_;but was blocky where the _Galahad _was smooth and curving. It was also much less ornate, more streamlined and compact.

"What…is it?" Alexander heard himself stammer. He could not see the smile on Livonze's face.

"Our finest creation," the youth replied. "We call it _Gundam._"

* * *

**(After many busy and difficult months, I managed to produce this. I can only plead the pain and time-consumption of finishing my PhD and constant and largely fruitless job hunting for this long delay. Now that I actually have some employment, I have a lot less on my mind. I'll do the follow-up chapter ASAP.)**

**NOTE - I have made some minor additions, in response to holes flagged up by astrocitizen. **


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